San Akoyagai
by Angrybee
Summary: (Chaos In Sous!) Soujirou. It's a common name, right? Rurouni Soujirou can't find answers, and he runs into a familiar man who can no longer find his own smile. (Rated for nude Soujirou, adult situations, and language.)
1. Chapter 1: The Devilish Swordsman

DISCLAIMER: Characters of Rurouni Kenshin belong to Nobuhiro Watsuki. This story is for personal enjoyment, or, lacking enjoyment, this story is to be folded, spindled, and mutilated.  
  
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Chapter 1: The Devilish Swordsman   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
In Japan, a man once lived who had phenomenal abilities with a sword. From a very young age, he trained, and succeeded, in becoming one of the greatest swordsmen to ever grace the face of that nation. And, in a troublesome era, when duty called, he responded by using those skills to cut down many a man, sacrificing much of himself in the process.  
  
And then, when the new era dawned, that man faded into the halls of history, disappearing from public view. Many even thought him dead, but yet he struggled on, living in spite of rumor, facing each day anew.  
  
And his name was -not- Himura Kenshin.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Soujirou lifted the burnt rice ball and peered at it. The burned spots, if you looked at them right, made a little smiling face.  
  
Even the damn food was mocking him these days.  
  
"Sorry, ano, with all these kids, you know, hard to keep an eye on the food." The lady of the house, Chihori, was sweeping the engawa upon which Soujirou was sitting. Or rather, she was attempting to sweep, but every two minutes another pint-sized tyke would run through the pile of dirt. Soujirou wasn't exactly sure how many children the woman had. He'd lost count at eight. Still, with all those mouths to feed, it was remarkably nice for her to offer him dinner.  
  
Though, he -had- saved her son, Etsuyo, from being beaten up in the marketplace. Soujirou peered at the smiling rice ball. Why? Why had he saved Etsuyo-chan? It didn't make any damn sense.  
  
Well, perhaps it had something to do with the giant bag of rice the kid was trying to drag home.   
  
Soujirou bit into the rice ball. It didn't taste bad at all, even with the burnt spots. However, he'd probably eat rancid rice at this point. He was -so- hungry. You'd think there'd be a lot of call for a strong 17 year old to do odd jobs, make a little cash to keep himself going. But, finding work was harder than he had imagined. Everyone wanted references, these days. And the only references he could think up were Himura-san and Shishio-san. An assassin turned rurouni, and an assassin turned -dead-. This didn't look very good on a job application.  
  
He'd been wandering now for two months. Two whole months, and he'd not found much truth. He'd found rainy nights and cold barns, ugly bandits and kind widows, empty pockets and an empty stomach. But, absolute truth? Zero.  
  
Soujirou came to the conclusion that he was a very -good- swordsman, and a very -bad- philosopher.  
  
"Ne, rurouni-san, here's a few extra rice balls for your trip, hm?" Chihiro handed him a small package. "It is the least I could do."  
  
"Thank you. I appreciate it greatly, Chihiro-san." Soujirou nodded to the woman and stood, not wishing to waste her time. A house with this many bodies certainly didn't really have the resources or space to put him up for the night. And, Shishio-san had taught him to never be impolite. Even the strongest were to be respectful of women. Women couldn't help being weak. They were just made that way.   
  
"Where will you go now, rurouni-san?"  
  
Soujirou looked at the horizon. Just beyond the low hill, he could see the sparkle of water, glittering like Yumi-san's jewelry box. "To the sea, I think. A walk along the beach..."  
  
Chihiro pursed her lips, "Oh, oh, rurouni-san. Do be careful. I mean you are strong and all, but..."  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"There's an old hermit who lives out on that beach. He's quite feisty, and, from what I understand, sometimes rather violent. Kenki-sama doesn't like intruders."  
  
"Ken...ki?" Soujirou let the name rattle around in his brain for a moment. Kenki. It meant "devilish swordsman". A devil swordsman? The idea seized Soujirou's thoughts. What sort of a man would earn such a nickname?   
  
"He's scary," Etsuyo-chan said from behind his mother's skirts, "I saw him in the market in town, once. He was wearing a sword, and when big-sister asked him about it, he knocked her out of the way! So scary! Please don't go there, rurouni-san."   
  
"Eeeehhh?" Soujirou rubbed the back of his head, the questions in his mind certainly not showing on his ever-amiable face. "I'll be fine. Don't worry."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Kenki Sou sat on his rock, thinking.  
  
He liked this rock. It had a good view of the sea. The sea which had saved him, time and again, from ruin. Well, it had saved his body. The rest of his life could not be repaired by the hand of man or god.  
  
But, isn't that what old Bunbu had always said? "At least you aren't dead, Sou, at least you aren't dead."  
  
Yeah, what sort of consolation was -that-, really?   
  
Kenki pushed his long hair out of his face to no avail. The wind coming off the sea just blew it back into his eyes. He should put his hair in a tie. He should cut his hair. He -should- do a lot of things. At the top of the list of things Kenki Sou should do...was to wade into that waiting sea and drown himself.  
  
A sacrifice to the sea gods in thanks for the extra, highly loathsome, time he spent on this godforsaken planet.  
  
Yes, Kenki Sou should do a lot of things. But, instead, he just drew characters in the wet sand with his long walking stick. Poetry. He'd always liked poetry. Back then, he'd rouse his compatriots with fiery war epics and woo the girls with silky romantic verses.   
  
Back then...  
  
Kenki winced, and shook his head. No, it was never good to think about those things. There were no pretty girls now. And certainly no compatriots.  
  
"Why?" Kenki closed his eyes, letting his stick continue to move, just out of habit, "I've broken something. Some sort of cosmic or karmic law. I should have died then, but I wanted so desperately to live. And now it seems I live on, though I crave death. Cruel. My punishment is cruel."  
  
Kenki stood and watched the sea. It would be low tide soon. He'd need to bring in the traps now, or he'd have to wait until tomorrow. Bunbu would turn over in his grave if something happened to the crop. That damn old hermit. Why did he have to die? As annoying and miserly as Bunbu was, at least he'd been company.   
  
As the man known as "Kenki Sou" walked away from his favorite rock, his long hair swished at his waist, flicking gently, rhythmically, against the pair of swords hanging from the man's hip.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Soujirou bent over and slipped off his waraji. The wet sand had coated the sandals, making him stick to the beach with each step. The "thuck thuck thuck" sound had become quite distracting.  
  
Mud slipped between Soujirou's toes. The slimy feeling made him wrinkle his nose a bit. Interesting. Soujirou couldn't say that he'd had mud between his toes since he'd gone about barefoot as a boy. The sensation wasn't altogether horrible.  
  
Soujirou continued to walk along the beach, his steps being erased as each wave slinked towards the shore. The water proved to be mild, and quite refreshing. In the distance, a few old boats lay at rest on the inlet. Fishermen. Definitely a fishing village, this was. With that slightly nauseating smell of decaying fish overlaid by sea salt, it seemed no different from any other small seaside village he'd been through.  
  
Climbing up the beach a bit, Soujirou headed towards an outcropping of rocks. It would be a good place to lay his waraji out to dry while he took a swim. He needed to keep up the strength of his arms, and just -walking- around Japan's countryside didn't accomplish much in that arena. A late-afternoon swim and then some kata practice would do just the trick.  
  
He peeled off his battered gi and the simple hakama he'd acquired somewhere along his travels. He couldn't really shukuchi very well in the hakama, but then, there hadn't been any need to get anywhere in a hurry. And they did prove to be much warmer than his old pants on cold nights.  
  
Halfway through getting undressed, Soujirou looked down.   
  
He was...standing in...writing.  
  
How odd. Someone had scratched out some characters in the sand. Poetry, it looked like.   
  
Soujirou blinked and read the verse.  
  
"A blessed inkling that I may die. But, when I view the shore, thoughts cease. Water can not perish, nor can I. Yet, tides can come and go as they please."  
  
Soujirou's left hand flinched. Reading the verse again caused a cold shiver to slink around the Tenken's neck and down his back.   
  
"Yare, yare, who'd waste time making up stuff like this?"  
  
With a bare foot, Soujirou erased the writing. Poetry. How -dumb-. What would pretty words get you? Nowhere useful. People sure did do a lot of nonsensical things with their free time.  
  
And yet, Soujirou couldn't help but feel a strange ache as the words crept back into his head. "Water can not perish, nor can I?" What was -that- supposed to mean? A suicidal thought, maybe? Ugh. The whole point of life was to become strong enough to continue to live it. Both Shishio-san -and- Himura-san would agree with -that-, even if their methodology differed.  
  
Laying his katana atop the pile, a naked Soujirou headed towards the water. He stretched his arms out wide, listening as his joints popped. This really -would- be good.   
  
Soujirou waded into the water, the smile on his face genuine for once. Maybe, if he were clever, he could figure out how to catch a fish for dinner. Afterwards, he could use driftwood to build a campfire and sleep under the stars. As long as it didn't rain, he had quite a pleasant night ahead.  
  
He'd see about perhaps finding this "Kenki" guy tomorrow. With a nickname like that, maybe the old recluse knew a thing or two about the world.   
  
"I mean, why would a 'devil swordsman' end up living here on a beach?" Soujirou thought. "If he lives up to his name, it would be a lot like Shishio-san becoming a hermit. So, he's got to have an interesting view on the world, at least!"  
  
Tiring of his swim, and noting that the sun was getting rather low in the sky, Soujirou headed for shore. Oh yes, he still had those rice balls that Chihiko had given him! Well, if he caught a fish, then he'd end up having a feast. Now, how to catch a....  
  
As Soujirou waded out of the water, he saw quite a startling sight. Sitting on one of the rocks where he had placed his clothes, was a small man.  
  
Very small. About Himura's size, give or take an inch.  
  
And, about Himura's age, too.   
  
But, what a powerful ki the man had! It whirled around him maniacally, mimicking the man's long locks of dark brown hair. Really long hair. The ends came down past the guy's waist. If it weren't for the fact that the guy wasn't wearing a gi, just an old pair of forest green peasant pants, Soujirou might have mistaken him for a small woman.  
  
Well, that, and he had a katana and wakizashi strapped to his hip with a long strip of turquoise fabric.   
  
The man was standing in front of the rock with Soujirou's clothes, leaning on a walking stick, gazing impassively towards the sea.  
  
Very impassively. It was as if he was looking right -through- Soujirou. Large brown eyes, lost in unfocused sadness, seemed the only remarkable feature of the man's face that Soujirou could make out from his distance.  
  
Except...  
  
Except his face was...  
  
Oddly familiar, nonetheless.  
  
Well, Soujirou had met a lot of people in his travels. One person tended to look like the next after a while.   
  
What the hell did this guy -want-, anyway?  
  
"Ano, sir," Soujirou said, wiggling his toes in the mud. He was naked, sure. But, where would modesty get him? It certainly wouldn't get his things back. "Might I have my clothes and sword, if you don't mind?"  
  
"I mind."  
  
Though Soujirou shifted his weight in confusion, the ever-present smile did not slip from his face. "Well, just the sword, then, perhaps?" If he had the sword, then he could fight the guy and -get- his clothes back.  
  
Without looking at Soujirou, the man said, "Carrying a sword is illegal, or hadn't you heard?"  
  
"Yes, I know, but..."  
  
"So, you are a criminal then?"  
  
Soujirou blinked. Well. He -was- a wanted man, a wanted -swordsman-, but for just a bit more than -carrying- the sword. Wait. This didn't make any sense. "But, you have swords, too. Are you a criminal?"  
  
"This is my land. I can wear my swords on my own land, if I wish." The man's eyes suddenly snapped into focus as he glared at Soujirou. "But, you, you are -trespassing-! And there are only two reasons someone would trespass here. From the looks of your bedraggled clothes, your reason must be thievery."  
  
"But, I'm just a simple rurou..." The pieces of the puzzle began to slip into place within Soujirou's mind. He'd never been accused of being really quick on the uptake. "Say, you must be that Kenki fellow, ne? I was coming to look for you, because..."  
  
A tiny sneer graced Kenki's lips as he tossed his walking stick aside. Why couldn't he discern this kid's ki? He could sense every life-force in the area. The fish. The eels. The seaweed. But, just -nothing- from the naked swordsman. Either the kid was nigh -dead-, or he was -very- adept at hiding things.   
  
"Ah. I was wrong," Kenki said, placing his hand on the hilt of his katana. "You're here for the other reason, then."  
  
"Ano..." Soujirou cooed, his nether bits becoming a bit chilly, "What would that be?"  
  
"Revenge."  
  
The single-toned song of the katana being unsheathed cut into Soujirou's ears. Stupid, stupid, stupid. How could he get himself in such a situation? No clothes. No sword. And nothing even nearby to use as a substitute.   
  
He'd have to hope he could run past this guy fast enough to get his katana.  
  
Soujirou tapped his toes in the mud. Ew. Suddenly the squishy sand wasn't as great as he had previously thought.   
  
"I really don't want to fight you, Kenki-san. I just had some questions and..."  
  
It didn't matter. Kenki was already charging him. Kami-sama, the little man was -fast-. Almost as fast as Himura! But, no one could move as fast as Tenken no Soujirou.   
  
Soujirou turned into a blur as his shukuchi took effect, propelling him forward. He slipped by the man's sword, but only barely. Kenki whirled around, lunging forward and downward with his sword. He caught the back of Soujirou's left calf with the tip of the katana, creating a three-inch gash.  
  
The sudden sting at the back of his leg caused Soujirou to falter. He missed a step in shukuchi, and attempted to correct it with his next footfall.  
  
Unfortunately, the force of doing so caused his right leg to sink into the mud, trapping one leg while the rest of Soujirou continued forward.  
  
Forward into a waiting rock.  
  
The sickening -smack- of Soujirou's forehead against the large stone bested the sound of the waves, and echoed across the beach. Pain shot instantly through Soujirou's mind, but then numbed itself quickly thereafter.  
  
Numbing wasn't good. No. Not being able to feel the pain was -very-, -very- bad. Soujirou moaned as he brought his fingers to his forehead. They came away coated with his blood.  
  
Oh heavens, what a -stupid- way to die. Shishio-san would surely laugh at -this-.   
  
Soujirou fell onto his side in the sand, blinking at the blurry horizon.   
  
He didn't even find any truth. Just a chaotic series of events, a meaningless parade of one damn thing after another.  
  
How disappointing.  
  
Kenki turned around, his mouth scrunching into a perturbed knot. He hadn't meant to -kill- the poor kid. Just scare him. Scare him enough that he'd go away and never, ever, think to come back. He stepped carefully towards the bleeding boy as he sheathed his sword. The kid had moved so quickly. It didn't even seem humanly possible to move that fast.  
  
Well, Kenki had seen one man move -almost- that fast before. But that man wasn't likely to be alive anymore.  
  
The hermit crouched down by the naked boy and squinted his eyes. A lot of blood. A pretty good bash to the head. But, then, you never could tell with head injuries. Sometimes they'd die right away, sometimes they'd linger a while, and sometimes they lived despite all odds.  
  
Hard to say what would happen.  
  
"Hey kid, what's your name?"   
  
Soujirou blinked, his vision tinted a burning red from the blood. "Seta....Seta Soujirou..."  
  
Soujirou.  
  
Kenki's heart missed a beat. Soujirou. That was a name he hadn't heard in a -very- long time. The mere sound made him feel a bit queasy. What horrible luck, to run into a kid with -that- particular name. It had to be an omen. But, he really didn't want to...  
  
Kenki didn't want or need company. But, on the other hand, he really shouldn't...  
  
No, he -couldn't...  
  
Leave this kid out here to die.  
  
"Alright, Soujirou. I'm not going to kill you. Just stay still and..."  
  
It was too late. The kid had already passed out.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
It smelled -really- good here.   
  
Soujirou's eyes rolled into the back of his head. Had he left the fish on the fire? Oh no, they'd get burned and then...  
  
Warmth. And blankets.   
  
And a throbbing headache.  
  
"Itaiiiiii..." Soujirou muttered, bringing his fingers to his head. Bandages, and... The touch caused a piercing sting. "Ititititaiiii!"  
  
"You shouldn't touch that."  
  
Soujirou's eyes flew open, which turned out to be a mistake, since even the dim light of the room caused him pain. Before closing his eyes again, he had a brief glimpse of a wild-haired, half-naked man sitting by a fire, poking at the coals with a stick.   
  
Oh. Right. Kenki.  
  
Ack! That weird Kenki guy. Was this his house? Was this his futon? What the -hell- was going on here?   
  
Last thing he remembered, he was running past Kenki and...  
  
Ah, yes. He hit his head on a rock. Well, his memory was working properly, at least.   
  
"You've been asleep for five hours. But, that is good. I wasn't certain you'd wake up at all."  
  
Five hours? And this guy, this Kenki, had tended him the whole time? Bandaged his wounds?   
  
How embarrassing.   
  
But, Kenki had spared his life. It reminded Soujirou vaguely of Himura Battousai. Kenki had just joined a very special club. Only two people had ever injured Soujirou so badly he couldn't stand. (Well, not counting a few particular sparring sessions with Shishio-san.) He was a good swordsman, definitely. But, if it hadn't been for the mud, Kenki certainly would not have won.  
  
Soujirou had taken Himura's advice to heart. Not killing people. Well, he never really liked killing anyone, anyway. So that part had turned out to be easy. But, fighting... Just fighting was alright. Even Himura fought -sometimes-. Soujirou was good at fighting, and not a whole lot else. And if he enjoyed it, quite a bit, what could be wrong with that?  
  
Yes. He enjoyed fighting. And winning. Losing, on the other hand, contained very little appeal.  
  
"You might have injured your ankle, too. It was swelling up, so I bandaged it." Kenki's voice moved slowly around the room as Soujirou kept his eyes shut. "Look, I'm going to be direct with you, boy. I don't like people. And I -especially- don't like nosy people who carry swords. Whatever drove you to come out here, you'd best forget it. Concentrate on healing, and then concentrate on getting out of my life."  
  
What a crotchety old goat. Goodness, the man was about the same age and size as Himura, but contained none of the compassion or general polite kindness. Soujirou had never met the Himura Battousai in his Hitokiri days, but imagined Kenki wasn't far off from what it might be like.  
  
Still, what could he do? The man had bandaged him up, when he could have just as easily left Soujirou to die. Maybe it would be best to just heal up and get the hell out of here. Soujirou had curiosity, but sometimes it was a bit too expensive to indulge.  
  
"Thank you for your hospitality," Soujirou whispered, his eyes still closed. He would need some time to think on this whole situation, but for the moment, thoughts seemed to be drifting into nothingness. The warmth, the soft blankets, the lack of need to worry, all made him quite sleepy despite the pain.  
  
Wait. Lack of need to worry?   
  
Shouldn't he worry? What if Kenki... Should he trust... You should never trust a stranger... But, Kenki, he didn't seem so bad, really. Right?   
  
Right?  
  
Kenki looked up from his pot of fish and leeks and squinted at the kid curled up on old Bunbu's futon. The boy wasn't snoring exactly, but he was making an odd little noise. It sounded like a drunken bumblebee. Zzzt. Zzzzuhzzzt. Zzzt. Zzzzuhzzzt.   
  
Leaning his ladle against the pot, Kenki crept over to the side of the futon to examine the boy more closely. He had dark brown hair cut in a western style. Or, rather, it had once been cut in a western style, and now it had grown out into a shaggy mess. Long black eyelashes twitched with each of Soujirou's buzzing breaths. And then there was his mouth, like two dashes of pink ribbon upturned at the ends. Even while sleeping, the kid smiled.   
  
He looked just like...  
  
Kenki Sou crossed the room, stirred his dinner for a second, and then made his way to a set of rickety cabinets. It was in here somewhere. Unless Bunbu, in one of his fits of cleaning, had thrown the thing out. Kenki had taken it off the corpse of a man not much older than Soujirou, someone else who had come looking for him, sword in hand. They always wanted revenge. Revenge for their fathers, revenge for their brothers, revenge for best friends. Many came, at first, and then fewer and fewer, until no one came anymore at all. Kenki had thought perhaps the world had forgotten about him altogether, and then Soujirou appeared.  
  
Ah. Here it was. Kenki pulled out the leather tube and pushed his finger inside to poke out the rolled piece of paper. It fell into his lap with a whispered plop. Holding it gently, Kenki stood, and walked back over to the sleeping Seta Soujirou.  
  
He hesitated before unrolling it. What did it matter? Still. It was strange. A mystery, even. Finally, gathering his resolve, Kenki unfurled the yellowed paper and held it next to Soujirou's face.  
  
The hermit looked from the paper, to the boy, and back again.  
  
No. Nothing alike. The drawing on the paper had a more youthful face, and slightly more pronounced ears. The hair was far darker and...  
  
No.  
  
Absolutely, positively, exactly alike.   
  
Down to the smile.  
  
The picture could have been drawn within Soujirou in mind.  
  
But, what did that mean? It didn't mean anything at all. A lot of boys might look very similar when they are young, before manhood chisels their features into unique stones. Of course. Just a coincidence, and nothing more.   
  
Kenki snorted as he rolled the picture into a tube, went back to the cabinets to put it away.   
  
"You better heal quickly, kid," Kenki muttered, "'Cause I hate the way you look."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Soujirou woke up to the sound of rain.  
  
Rain? No. Waves. The sea.   
  
Kenki's house. It was going to take some getting used to sleeping on a futon. Even when some kindly stranger could offer him shelter, he usually ended up with a thin blanket and the hard ground in front of the hearth.  
  
'I wonder why this guy has an extra futon, anyway. Doesn't seem like he is much of one for company.'   
  
Soujirou tested his eyes by opening the left one only a crack. Much darker now. Only some lingering coals in the fireplace and moonlight slipping through a sliding wooden window. His head still hurt, but not as much as...  
  
Ooo. He needed to head outdoors and momentarily commune with nature. What a dilemma.   
  
Slowly, Soujirou pushed himself up, using handfuls of futon to steady the wobbling room. Maybe standing wouldn't be such a good idea. And Kenki had said his ankle might be injured. Though, if it was, Soujirou certainly couldn't feel it. But then, besides the pounding in his head and urge to relieve himself, he couldn't feel much.   
  
Well, that left only one option.  
  
Crawling.   
  
Ugh.  
  
Door, door, door. Where might the door be? Soujirou peered around the darkened room, looking for the nearest exit. Hm. Not much here. The fire, some random items hanging from the walls, baskets or something, a low table in one corner, some cabinets and...  
  
A lump on the floor about six feet away. Hm. It must be Kenki.   
  
Soujirou blinked as the older man flipped over violently in his sleep, tossing his blankets into a pile between the two futons. Even in the low light, Soujirou could see the other man's hands clench and unclench into fists at his stomach.  
  
No, not fists. Into circles. As if he were gripping a sword in his dreams.  
  
Soujirou would have found it disturbing, except that he'd awakened on occasion to find his hands sore from doing the exact same thing.   
  
Kenki's breathing became haggard, tinged with desperation. Curiosity overruled Soujirou's demanding bladder and caused the boy to lean forward, crawling halfway to the other futon.  
  
A bit of pain shot into his foot. Ah, so his ankle -was- injured. Well, at least it still hurt. Numbness, emotional or physical, never tended to be a positive thing. He'd learned that lesson right before fleeing the burning compound on Mt. Hiei.  
  
Kenki moaned pitifully in his sleep, causing Soujirou to halt his progress. No. Not a moan. More like the echo of a war cry resounding from the depths of the dream world. And it was followed by two, very clear words, both spoken in a voice that caused even Soujirou flinch.  
  
"Himura Battousai..."  
  
Himura? Himura? How did Kenki know Himura?   
  
Soujirou pushed all of his weight onto the palms of his hands, rocking closer to Kenki. If he said anything else, Soujirou wanted to catch it. His knees shuffled forward as he dragged his injured ankle towards Kenki.  
  
Who -was- this guy?  
  
Finally only a few inches from the other man's face, Soujirou held his breath. Without all that hair in his face, he looked, well, less crazy and more...  
  
Kenki's eyes popped open, and his hand immediately flew to Soujirou's neck, lifting the boy's torso with a powerful grasp.   
  
He looked...  
  
Those eyes...  
  
No wonder they called him a devil. A demon. Those eyes bespoke years of killing. Those eyes said they didn't mind at all bearing the burden of taking another life.  
  
Those eyes were lost. As lost as the person who hid behind Soujirou's smile.  
  
Soujirou felt Kenki's grip tighten. Unable to speak, Soujirou did the first thing that came to mind, he brought his elbow up and struck Kenki soundly across the chin with his forearm.  
  
Kenki reeled backwards into the futon, dropping the former Tenken in the process. Soujirou's head came to rest on Kenki's stomach as both men caught their breath.  
  
"Kenki-san, my apologies..."  
  
"What are you doing kid? Snooping around?" Kenki rubbed his chin gingerly. There would be a bruise in the morning.   
  
Soujirou winced and put his fingers to his neck. Sheesh. Kenki's fingers probably left some good marks. Oh well, they'd heal up, too. "No, I...I didn't mean to...ano..." Soujirou slowly lifted his head off the other man's stomach. "I was looking for the door, you know?"  
  
"Why?" Kenki narrowed his eyes. Why the hell was the kid smiling? What was funny about almost being strangled?   
  
"Well, I...have to...ano....-go-."  
  
For a moment, just no more than a flash, Kenki's expression softened. But, he immediately re-hid any temporary chink in his wall of grouchiness by turning away from Soujirou as he sat up. "Right." Well, if you have to go, you have to go. And he had, thoughtlessly, put the kid on the futon farthest from the door.   
  
Kenki stood up, his wild hair hanging like a fishing net over his muscled back. Didn't the guy ever wear a shirt? Or a yukata? Or anything besides those same green peasant pants? Soujirou watched as the older man stepped over the futon and extended a hand. "You wanna try to walk, or you want me to carry you?"  
  
"I was going to crawl, actually," Soujirou said with a grin. But, then, he said everything with a grin.   
  
Kenki snorted, producing a sound somewhere between "not amused" and "completely irate". "Crawl? And drag back half the beach's sand into my house? Are you an idiot, boy?"  
  
Soujirou had to be honest. He's never really used his mind for much of anything. "Possibly."  
  
With a huff, Kenki stepped over his futon and grabbed Soujirou firmly by his upper arm, lifting him into a standing position. "Come on, kid. Here now. Lean on me a bit. Try not to step on your bad foot, too much. You'll just make it worse. Alright, there's a bit of a step down here, but you can't see it. There ya go."  
  
Outside, the breeze coming off of the night sea chilled Soujirou's skin. The moon, low on the horizon, cast tiny fragments of light onto the water, as if trying to skip glowing stones back towards shore. Soujirou felt Kenki's strong grip practically lifting him as he walked. Soujirou wasn't sure which was more embarrassing, crawling, or having to be assisted to walk.  
  
Kenki guided Soujirou to a fence post and leaned the boy against it. "Steady there, boy. You got it?"  
  
"Yes. Think so."  
  
Kenki turned around and walked about a half dozen paces away, looking out towards the sea as he crossed his arms. He hadn't had to help anyone to walk in a long time. But, in the old days, it seemed every night ended with someone else having to borrow his strength to get back to headquarters. Or, on bad nights, he'd return with someone's dead body slumped over his shoulder. No. Kenki snarled a bit as he watched the waves. Best not think about that. Damn this kid. He brought back such unhappy memories.   
  
Like that dream. He hadn't had -that- dream in a long time. It was almost a miracle that he hadn't jumped for his katana and sliced the kid's head off.  
  
'Eh, maybe I should go back to sleeping on the roof while that boy is here. It's good weather for it. Old Bunbu always said that nothing clears the mind like sleeping outdoors. On the other hand, he was just trying to get me to leave so my nightmares wouldn't bother him.' Kenki tilted his head a bit. Hm. Soujirou really -did- have to -go-.   
  
Kenki shook his head and considered the tide. The moon was good tonight. Even Bunbu didn't know why, but a moon like this always inspired a better crop. 'A crisp shell moon', Bunbu had called it.   
  
Was that kid -still- going?   
  
He'd go out tomorrow on the pier for the newest oysters. If the moon kept like this for a day or two, the timing would be perfect. Hm. But, that would mean leaving Soujirou alone in the house. 'Maybe I can tie him to the futon somehow. Or get him so drunk he passes out for the whole day. Bunbu's sure to have some of his old brew somewhere.' Kenki let a small sigh pass his lips. The boy hadn't even been here a day, and already he was the biggest nuisance since...  
  
"Ano, Kenki-san?"  
  
Kenki winced slightly. Even the boy's -voice- reminded him of yesteryear. "What is it -now-?"  
  
Soujirou didn't say anything for quite a while, hoping Kenki would just get the general idea. When the older man didn't, Soujirou said, in possibly the quietest voice he had used since he'd met Shishio-san, "I'm finished."  
  
The corner of Kenki's mouth twitched as he turned around, walked towards Soujirou, and placed his hand around the boy's shoulders. As they hobbled together towards the door, Soujirou felt thankful he hadn't gone alone. His head was absolutely swimming with pain now, and he probably would have ended up just sleeping in the yard.  
  
Kenki-san wasn't a bad guy, really. A mystery, perhaps, and more surly than almost everyone Soujirou had ever met, but maybe not so bad. Maybe.   
  
Kenki forgot to remind Soujirou about the step, causing the boy to lurch forward when he stubbed his big toe. This elicited a mild hiss from Soujirou, but nothing more. Really, Kenki found himself impressed. For as much damage as the kid had taken today, he hadn't really complained much.  
  
"Don't go breaking your other ankle, idiot."  
  
"Sorry."  
  
After helping Soujirou back into the futon, Kenki went back to shut the door. He listened as Soujirou turned a bit, trying to get his various injuries comfortable, before heading towards his own bed.   
  
What a predicament.  
  
And he still didn't even know what the kid -wanted-.  
  
"Kenki-san?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Thanks." Soujirou listened as the other man snorted exasperatedly and retrieved his previously tossed blanket.  
  
"Say, Kenki-san?"  
  
"What? What now? What else could you possibly want from me?"  
  
Soujirou glanced at the nearby wall, watching the shadows swallow his shoulder and the edge of the blanket. So incredibly dark. Like an abyss sneaking up, patiently watching for the moment he fell asleep, just waiting to eat him whole. Swallowed into the belly of a snake called 'Nightmare'.  
  
"Do you have bad dreams sometimes, Kenki-san?"  
  
The older man almost bit his own tongue. What in the hell? Now this kid was -really- bothering him. "Mind your own business."  
  
A small "hm" came from the direction of Soujirou's futon as the young man pulled his blanket up over his head in an attempt to warm his face. The inky blackness surrounded Soujirou, causing him to shudder. He'd never liked the dark. He wasn't exactly -afraid- of the dark. No. Tenken no Soujirou was afraid of little to nothing! The dark just...wasn't kind.  
  
"Yeah," Soujirou finally said, closing his eyes, "I have bad dreams sometimes, too."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Soujirou awoke to the sound of birds. Gulls, to be exact. The cawing noisemakers had apparently planned a festival right outside the window.  
  
It did absolutely nothing for his headache.  
  
Soujirou sat up a bit, testing the stability of the world inch by inch. He felt like a snail crawling out of its shell after a long rest, or perhaps a bear emerging from hibernation. Light prickled his eyes, causing Soujirou to blink rapidly and then duck his head to keep it in a shadow.   
  
And then his stomach growled.  
  
Right, no food since he left Chihori-san's house yesterday. The rice balls. They should still be in his things. But, where had Kenki-san put his things?  
  
Tentatively, Soujirou glanced around the hut. Daylight made it look smaller, and dirtier. Aging ropes and nets hung from every spare space, and judging by the accumulation of ash, Kenki hadn't cleaned out the fire's hearth in months. This place was definitely just a place to sleep and store Kenki's things. The concept of an actual 'home' seemed to be foreign to the man. Oh well, Soujirou didn't particularly know much about 'home', either.  
  
Soujirou located his things by the end of his futon, as well as a note from Kenki which read:  
  
"I'll be back later. There's miso in the kettle."  
  
Soujirou busied himself warming the miso as best he could with the few remaining coals. He tried to concentrate on the task at hand, and not let his mind wander to either his pain or the very intriguing mystery of Kenki Sou. But...  
  
Kenki -had- said "Himura Battousai". And there was, as far as Soujirou knew, only -one- Himura Battousai. Kenki's sword skills weren't particularly lacking. So, it seemed likely that Kenki had either fought -against- Himura or -assisting- Himura. If the hermit had been with the Ishin Shishi, he might know Shishio-san, too. Or, maybe he hadn't been in the war, and he knew Himura from his days as a rurouni.   
  
So many questions. And, it didn't seem likely that Kenki would answer any of them willingly. Yes, it might be too dangerous to try to get an explanation from the wild beach man before healing. After healing, however, would be a completely different story. Kenki may have gotten lucky that first time, but...not again.  
  
Soujirou ate his miso and the stale rice balls with aplomb. Taste didn't matter quite as much as getting something into his stomach.   
  
He examined the bandage at his head carefully. Yuck. He could smell the rapidly souring blood as he brought his fingers away from the cloth. Blood from the head never seemed the same as blood from anywhere else on the body. It wouldn't coagulate as quickly, for some reason. Well, clean bandages would be in order. If only Soujirou could figure out where Kenki kept his bandages...  
  
Soujirou put his empty bowl aside and crawled towards the nearby low cabinet. He had to brace himself to pull it open, as the sea air had warped the wood, causing it to stick in the groove. With a pop, it slid back, revealing the contents within.  
  
'What's all this?' Soujirou thought, pulling out the neatly folded piles of cloth. Well. So, Kenki -did- own clothes besides those green pants.  
  
But these were...very fancy...  
  
Certainly more fine than anything Soujirou had ever owned. Even the western shirt that Yumi-san had given him was nothing in comparison to...  
  
Soujirou unfolded the haori. Turquoise, with white triangles at the sleeves and hem. Next came fine green hakama, well worn. And then...  
  
Red.  
  
Soujirou's eyes grew wide as the read the white kanji on the small red flag he had unfolded. "Makoto."  
  
This was a Shinsengumi uniform.  
  
Shishio-san had told him all about the powerful Shinsengumi after they had first encountered that cop in Shingetsu. Saitou Hajime. Yes. He had been in the Shinsengumi, too. Some of the most powerful swordsmen of the era had joined the Shinsengumi, and Shishio-san had cut many of them down. But, he had not killed Kenki, apparently.   
  
So, Kenki had been in the Shinsengumi. That explained quite a bit, and certainly explained why he might be hesitant to let another swordsman onto his property. Many of the Shinsengumi had been killed outright, and those who hadn't been weren't generally looked upon fondly by the Meiji government. Except, strangely, for Saitou-san. But, then, that was probably only because he did their dirty work for them.  
  
But, as Soujirou pulled out a few more random pieces of equipment and clothing, a small leather tube fell on the ground in front of his knees. A small triangle of paper peeked out from the rolled document within.  
  
Slowly, carefully, Soujirou pulled at the paper until it came out of the tube. He had only the vaguest feeling that he shouldn't pry in Kenki's affairs, only the smallest of thoughts that this might not be a good idea. On the other hand, you couldn't get to know people without a little risk. Right?  
  
Soujirou unrolled the yellowing paper and found a very disturbing drawing smiling up at him.  
  
That face...  
  
It looked exactly the same as his own face.  
  
It was the same face he saw reflected when he washed in the morning. The same face which peered back at him from the mirrored sheen of his katana. Soujirou held the paper up to the light a bit to make certain he'd made no mistake. As he did, he read the inscription on the bottom right of the page.  
  
"Okita Souji, Captain of the Shinsengumi First Troop. Age Nineteen."  
  
Okita.  
  
Soujirou couldn't breathe.  
  
Okita. Souji.  
  
No. It couldn't be.   
  
"What is going on here?" Soujirou whispered, imploring the smiling picture for answers.  
  
Soujirou's question was echoed by the wild-haired man standing in the doorway.   
  
Kenki Sou, once known to the world as Okita Souji, looked extremely annoyed.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
In Our Next Chapter: Alright. How is Okita -not- dead? And why is he now such a dreary pill? Will Okita and Soujirou end up killing each other over decade old issues? Why -do- the men look so much alike? Will Soujirou find any guidance towards redemption? What will happen when Okita finds out there are people he knows who are still alive? This and more in the next chapter.  
  
Author Notes: Ok. There is a lot I could explain here, but it would be giving away the story, I think. Suffice it to say that, yes, Okita is much changed from the way he acts in the series. But, maybe he still has a soft side somewhere within? Also, I will say this now, this is not some sort of bizarre Okita-clone yaoi story.   
  
This first chapter is a little slow compared to the start of my other stories. But, I assure you, it picks up, so I hope you will stick with it. I have to give some credit to hakubaikou for making me think sea-wise with "Against a Sea of Troubles". Thanks HB!  
  
I almost didn't post this story, because I don't think it is going to interest people as much as some things I have written. But, then, I'm a big Okita fan, so, I decided to write it for -me- more than for an audience.  
  
Also, "San Akoyagai", is my very rough translation of "Three Pearl Oysters".  
  
Ack. The bizarre line breaks that inserted themselves into this fic should be fixed shortly. 


	2. Chapter 2: Owing the Sea Goddess

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Chapter 2: Owing the Sea Goddess  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The wild-haired man with the questionable identity stomped across the floor and tore the drawing from a shocked Soujirou's hands. "Give me that." In the process, the upper left hand corner ripped off, leaving Soujirou with a fluttering tag of yellow between his fingertips.   
  
Kenki snarled at the picture in his hands as he turned his back to Soujirou. "You shouldn't have gone poking around, boy. You really shouldn't have done that. Curiosity killed the fish that wanted to know the taste of a glittering hook."  
  
Soujirou leaned back against the cabinets, closing his eyes. Okita. Okita Souji. First Captain of the Shinsengumi. One of the most powerful swordsmen from the Revolution. Shishio-san had told them the captivating tale. A boy no older than Soujirou had become a sword master in the truest sense of the word. He led his men in the Shinsengumi as a genius, a prodigy, a magnificently feared Captain. He was arguably the most deadly blade on the Shogunate side. People said he was even more skilled than Saitou-san, before his health...  
  
Hmm. Didn't he die of disease?   
  
Well, then again, they'd doused Shishio-san in oil and burned him alive. So, stranger men had returned from the grave.  
  
The story had captured Soujirou's imagination so much that Shishio-san had...  
  
"You're him, aren't you? You're the man in the picture. You're Okita Souji."  
  
Okita's shoulders visibly tensed, the muscles in his back becoming like ropes. When was the last time that name had been spoken aloud without the phrase "And now I will kill you" following it?  
  
Now the boy knew. And since the boy knew, he couldn't leave this place. What if he told someone? Just one person, and the rumor would spread. The Meiji Government would come, and along with them, every relative of every man he'd ever killed.   
  
Seta Soujirou could never leave this beach alive.   
  
'Why won't it ever flood?' Okita wondered, 'Why won't the ocean rise and reclaim me? Why can't I die? This is my hell, to go on killing and killing. To be unable to join them, the ones who died bravely and with glory in battle. This is my hell. And now the boy. He looks so much like me, like I was -then-...'  
  
Visions of Soujirou's blood spraying into his face, of Soujirou's innards spilling out onto the beach to mix with sand, flickered through Okita's mind. That smile would slip from Soujirou's face. His eyes would glaze over. His body would fall.  
  
'He looks so much like I did at that age. It will be like killing myself. Like killing my past. Then I really will have nothing to hold onto...anymore.'  
  
"Kenki-san?" Soujirou tilted his head to the other side. "Are you him?"  
  
"Why are you here? What do you want from me?" Okita whirled around. Once again, his ki intrigued Soujirou. It blossomed like a black funnel cloud, a swirling portal to an indeterminate hell. "Who are you? Did they send you? The Meiji government? Hm? Or do you belong to some other faction? Are you an assassin? Eh? Well, what is it, boy?" Okita leaned down, pressing his face close enough to Soujirou's that his hair formed a black curtain enshrouding the pair.   
  
"I'm just a rurouni. My master is dead, and so now I wander."  
  
Damn. With the perpetual smile on the kid's face it was impossible to tell if he was lying or not. "You wander, hm? Why not stay put wherever Kami-sama originally deposited you?"  
  
"I'm..." Just for a moment, Okita thought he saw Soujirou's gaze dart away. "...looking for answers. I guess you could say that I'm on a philosophical journey to find myself."  
  
Slowly, Okita's eyebrows ventured closer and closer together as his eyes became more and more narrow. Then, suddenly, they popped apart as the older man stood up, looped his thumbs into the waist of his pants, and let out a barking guffaw. "You're what, sixteen? A boy your age hasn't even -got- a self to find."  
  
"I'm seventeen, Okita-san."  
  
Okita flinched at the sound of his own name.   
  
"So, it -is- Okita-san, then. And not Kenki-san. I thought so." Soujirou leaned back against the cabinets. Holding his head upright was beginning to make him a bit dizzy. "That makes me feel a bit better. I don't think I could stand it if just -any- swordsman had drawn my blood."  
  
Okita just stared at Soujirou. Seventeen, and he already had either a monsterous ego or some sort of frightening insanity.   
  
"Say, Okita-san, why is it, do you think, that we look so much alike?"  
  
"Punishment from the heavens," Okita mumbled, rolling the picture back into a tube. Probably everybody in Japan had someone else who looked like them. Nature could only come up with so many permutations on the human design. Besides, all gulls looked alike to Okita, and it didn't seem to bother them to resemble every other bird in the flock.  
  
"Ehhhh?"  
  
"Humans tend to look like each other, that's all." No need for the boy to know he had been sent to torture Okita. Letting out a deep sigh, Okita waved towards the far futon. "Go back to bed. You're turning pale."  
  
"No, if you don't mind, I think I will sit here."  
  
Wow. The boy really was turning white. Soujirou's patent smile had drawn downwards into just a thin line upturned at the ends. The color rushed away from his lips. Lips which, in Okita's estimation, seemed to be on the verge of trembling.  
  
"Okita-san? I think...I think I..."  
  
Now Okita was worried. He could finally sense the boy's ki, and it bespoke only one thing. Pain. Before Okita could even move, Soujirou slumped to the side in one violent motion, and vomited.  
  
Sticky streams of goo leaked from Soujirou's lips as he sputtered into the corner, trying to rid his mouth of the last of the foul-tasting mess. Okita slowly lowered himself to his knees beside the boy, peering quizzically and trying desperately not to breathe through his nose.  
  
"You alright, kid?"  
  
Soujirou continued to look down at the gloppy pile of regurgitated lunch, the shadows of the corner shielding his face from sight. "How embarrassing."  
  
"Ah, now," Okita said, the usually brusque tone of his voice suddenly missing, "That isn't much of anything. Back in the hospital, I once threw up on the prettiest nurse in the ward. Right in her face, too. She smelled of bile for an entire week. After that, every time she saw me, she'd turn a visible shade of green. Now -that- is embarrassing."  
  
"No," Soujirou replied. Okita couldn't see his face, but did notice that the kid's right hand had curled into a white-knuckled fist. "It's everything. Everything. A man's not supposed to... I'm strong. I should be able to take care of myself. It's shameful for...it's humiliating to have someone else have to help me. Utterly humiliating."  
  
What a weird kid. "Haven't you ever had anyone take care of you when you were sick or hurt?"  
  
Soujirou finally pulled his head up, exposing the left side to the light. His smile appeared to be an echo, bounced back from a rocky cliff only to return lacking in luster. "No." Soujirou thought about it for a moment and then corrected himself. "Well, maybe, once. But, I can hardly remember anymore. It might have just been something I made up."  
  
Okita scrunched his lips. Of course, countless people would have wanted care for him when -he'd- been ill. So many that he'd pushed them away, hidden his illness long after he should. Helpless in the face of his impending demise, Okita had once lashed out against the world, causing life after life to fall silent on the end of his blade.   
  
"Lots of rice in that," Okita said plainly, motioning towards the quickly cooling vomit.   
  
"Might have been bad." Soujirou recalled that Etsuyo had brought back a new bag of rice from the market. Chihori probably made these from the dregs of the previous bag. Who knows what rot had infected the rice. "I've decided I'm not fond of vomiting, Okita-san."  
  
Okita actually chuckled as he extended a hand to Soujirou, "You know, kid, I'm not familiar with anyone who -is- fond of it." After helping Soujirou back into the futon, Okita tossed him the blanket. "You have to stop trying to die at every junction, it's getting annoying."  
  
"Yeah," Soujirou said. And then he repeated himself in a quieter tone. "Yeah. For me too."  
  
Okita stood over the futon, his thumbs looped into the waist of his pants. "Look, kid. If you're feeling a little better tomorrow, I'll take you to the pier with me. I'll show you how to shuck oysters. It's obvious I can't leave you here. You'll just rummage through my stuff some more."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
Sure. Out on the pier. That would be a good place. Let the kid get his fill of the sea air. Let him have fun searching for pearls. And then, afterwards, Okita wouldn't even have to move the body, just sink it. Of course, it wouldn't be as easy as decapitating the kid in his sleep. But...  
  
That boy.  
  
With the way he looked...  
  
It would be like giving the sea back the same body it had saved from ruin all those years ago.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
A hospital. Tokyo. Meiji 1.  
  
"Okita-sama! Okita-sama!" Hegi clapped his hands together to get the older man's attention. "Look, look! Breakfast! Breakfast is here!"  
  
Hegi tended to get excited about anything which even showed the slightest hint of positivity. It made the young men very compatible roommates despite the fact that Okita had been a Captain in the Shinsengumi, and Hegi had been a slave.  
  
But, his good-natured outlook on the world had so endeared him to his owners that when Hegi took ill, they'd sent him to this hospital to be looked after by the best doctors in the country. Okita didn't think anyone could -not- like Hegi. Even though he was dying as rapidly as Okita, Hegi seemed to have an inexhaustible lust for appreciating life.  
  
Okita turned away from the window. It was early fall, now, and they'd been told that the children would be having a kite contest in the park sometime today. Both Okita and Hegi had looked forward to watching from their window all week.  
  
After all, they'd made many of the kites.  
  
It was one of the few ways they'd pass the time when they felt well enough to sit up in bed. Making kites. Making toys. Hegi liked to sew dolls for little girls. But the sword calluses on Okita's hands kept him from such delicate work. Instead, he'd carve toy soldiers, and samurai, and cavalry on horses. He'd certainly seen enough of all of them to know the uniforms, not to mention faces, by heart.  
  
"Hai! Breakfast indeed, eh, Hegi? What do you think it is? I'm imagining roast pig with cherry glaze, fresh plums and steamed squash and..."  
  
"Oh, Okita-san, you're such a troublemaker," the white-clad nurse bearing the trays of food chided, "You know it's the exact same rice and miso you get every morning."  
  
"I like Okita-sama's version better," Hegi said with a grin, pushing himself up in the western-style bed with a small grunt. "'Cept I don't think I could eat pig. Back home, my pigs were my best friends. Yup. They're good people, pigs are. Friendlier than a dog, you know?"  
  
The nurse nodded blankly, obviously ready to return to her rounds. She looked from Hegi to Okita. "Do you need help getting back into bed, Okita-san?"  
  
"No," Okita replied. "Being helped into your bed is no way to start a morning. Don't you think, Hegi?" With considerable effort, Okita stood. Changing positions was the worst. That familiar tightening right beneath his sternum would begin, working its way upward and outward until it reached his shoulders. Yes. Standing was bad, but laying down could be hellish. Every part of his torso, from the throat down, throbbed and burned. With great care, and taking only the smallest breaths, Okita lowered himself into the bed without provoking a fit of coughing.   
  
Hegi shot Okita a reassuring grin as the nurse placed the tray of food on the former slave's lap. Okita returned the gesture with sincerity,   
  
After the nurse left, the two young men ate in silence for some time, each stealing longing looks at the window. Finally, poking at a half-eaten rice ball with a chopstick, Hegi asked, "Okita-sama, don't you think this is the best part?"  
  
"What's that, Hegi-kun?"  
  
"Looking forward to something." Hegi, never possessed of refined manners, scratched behind his ear with the chopstick. "It's the best part but..."  
  
The smile on Okita's face dropped slightly. He knew exactly what Hegi was trying to say. The anticipation, the waiting, the excitement, it had kept them both going all week long. Whenever things seemed bad, whenever they coughed until they all but choked on the blood, they had only to think of the kites.   
  
But, in a way, neither of them wanted those kites to appear in the window. Of course, they would both enjoy the spectacle beyond measure. Knowing that they were partially responsible for the fun those children would experience today would bring them both great happiness. And yet, afterwards, there would be such a terribly empty feeling.  
  
The feeling of having nothing else to look forward to for tomorrow.  
  
"You're right about the pigs, though," Okita said, changing the subject abruptly. "I had one once. A runt. Followed me all around the dojo."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I ended up eating him, though. Tasty, tasty." Okita leaned forward conspiratorially, locking his gaze on his startled roommate. "That's how you get it, you know? The illness? It's a pig's curse. If you anger a pig, they use special piggy-piggy magic to make you sick."  
  
Hegi's jaw dropped while his mouth was still full of rice, causing several grains to tumble out onto his loose yakata. Closing his mouth and swallowing hard, he asked, "Is that true?"  
  
Okita grinned. It was probably mean to take advantage of how gullible his roommate was, but then Hegi would always get him back later by telling the bawdiest tales imaginable. It was just Okita's luck to get stuck with a slave whose former mistress had once been an oiran. "Of course it isn't true. The doctors don't know how you get it."  
  
"No, I mean about the pig. Did you really eat him?"  
  
Okita laughed so hard that he began to cough. Quickly grabbing the rag by his bedside, he placed it over his mouth, protecting his food from blood.  
  
"Sorry, Okita-sama," Hegi whispered after Okita's fit finally died down. "I didn't mean to."  
  
Okita waved his hand dismissively. "It's okay, Hegi-kun. I'd rather die laughing."  
  
"Yeah." Hegi's cheeks puffed out a bit as he played with air in his mouth, turning once again to watch the window. "Okita-sama, what will you look forward to, tomorrow?"  
  
Okita didn't even have to think about it. What he wanted, what he craved, was news of his friends. Fighting still continued in some areas, but that was the extent of Okita's knowledge. The hospital had stopped allowing him any information from the outside world months ago, on the policy that anything upsetting might exacerbate his condition. He didn't know who yet lived, if they were fighting, or if they had capitulated. Okita didn't know for whom to root, and for whom to mourn.  
  
All he wanted, what he looked forward to, was news of his compatriots' safety.  
  
No. What he really wanted was to be there with them. Protecting them. Fighting. Killing wasn't pleasant, but Okita would have slaughtered every man in Satsuma to ensure the success of the ideals and goals of the Shinsengumi.  
  
"Something good will come along, Hegi-kun, I'm sure of it."  
  
"Oh, I know." Hegi said, clapping his hands together excitedly, "It's almost autumn. So, the momiji trees in the park should be turning red soon."  
  
Okita nodded his approval and looked down at his handkerchief. Yes. Brilliant red.  
  
Just like the spots of blood littering the fabric.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Okita just stared listlessly into the darkness, watching the figure in the bed on the other side of the room. Soon the sunrise would wash away the heavy shadows, and the songs of birds would replace the eerie quiet of the night. And, after that, the nurse would bustle in, carrying the breakfast trays, only to discover she needn't have brought but one.  
  
Hegi had died in his sleep during the night.  
  
The sudden absence of his roommate's labored breathing had drawn Okita from his own slumber.   
  
It didn't particularly shock him to see a corpse. He'd seen more than his share. Nonetheless, sadness permeated his body, leaving his muscles sore and his throat tight. Poor Hegi. At least the momiji had turned a brilliant crimson in the past week. Hegi had even charmed one of the nurses to bring him a branch for the vase on his nightstand. He adored the color. It reminded him, he said, of his mistress' finest robes.  
  
Poor Hegi.  
  
Okita shook his head slightly. No news had come. And now he didn't even have Hegi to talk to anymore.   
  
Okita knew there wasn't anything in his own future except to wait for death.  
  
Why wait for it here?  
  
He couldn't die, not yet, not without knowing what happened to his friends.   
  
And if they were still fighting, somewhere, he'd go to that place and fight along side them one last time. That was the way a man, no, a warrior, should die. Not here. Not defeated by his own body.   
  
"Hegi," Okita whispered as he slid his feet onto the floor, "I'm sorry for this."  
  
Okita crossed the room. It took him almost half an hour to get Hegi's body from one bed to the other. Ignoring every spark of pain, Okita toiled as the pre-dawn turned blackness into ever-thinning shades of grey. He switched his own clothes with Hegi's. Carefully copying the slave's bad handwriting, he dashed off a note.  
  
"Sorry I took Okita-sama's things, but now that he'd dead, he won't mind. I'm gonna sell his swords and live like a free man for a as long as I have left. -Hegi."   
  
Quickly placing what few things he had, and what remained of his money, into a sack, Okita slipped the note underneath the door.  
  
Yes. This was the right thing to do. Okita felt more invigorated already.   
  
After opening the window, Okita returned to quickly light the fires, making extra certain to light the area around Hegi's head several times. They had similar builds, but their faces weren't even close in resemblance.  
  
"Goodbye for now, Hegi. I'll see you soon, though. And, I will tell you all about my last adventure."  
  
Feeling strangely light on his feet, Okita made his way out the window and across the hospital yard. At this time of night, no one would see him. And, who would care, if they did? It wasn't like he was escaping from prison.  
  
Okita crossed the bridge over the canal which skirted the eastern edge of the park. Once there, he looked back towards the hospital, watching the rising glow in the window of his former room. When the intensity of the light seemed satisfactory, Okita reached over and pulled the long cord on the fire bell located at the edge of the park, sending crisp peals of reverberated warning into the nearby area.  
  
Well, he wanted to leave, not kill everyone in the hospital. They'd all die soon enough, anyway.  
  
With Hegi taking his place, no one would be looking for a traveling warrior. They'd be seeking an ex-slave concerned with revelry. This was good. If the new Meiji government suspected that Okita had taken off to fight -against- them, they'd track him down in no time.  
  
As he slowly made his way across the park towards a residential area, Okita's plan solidified in his mind. He'd always been a solid tactician. Maybe not as good as Hijikata-san, but then, who was?  
  
First, he'd find new clothes. Something he could fight in, and something which would hide how frail his body had become. He'd brought along his remaining Shinsengumi uniform, but he certainly couldn't wander around in it.  
  
Next, he had to get out of Tokyo.  
  
And lastly, he needed solid information and a hot cup of tea.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Seven days later.  
  
Okita sat on a rock, listlessly watching the sea. The crinkled dispatches in his hand flapped in the irregular wind blowing over the beach.   
  
He'd been sitting here a while, completely motionless. So long, in fact that sand had begin to take shelter in the wrinkles and folds of his skin and clothing, giving his windward side a dusty white sheen.  
  
Finally, he could hold it no longer. Despite his shallow breaths, the blowing sand invaded Okita's nose, plunging into his throat.   
  
The second before he dissolved into a fit of coughs, Okita released the papers in his hand into the wind. They danced merilly down the beach, performing an erratic ballet as they left him behind. Doubling over in pain, Okita took what shelter he could in the lee of the rock.  
  
After leaving Tokyo, he'd been traveled east for four days. The best, though scant, information he had procured revealed that Hijikata was fighting in Aizu. Knowing that heading straight on the roads from Tokyo to Aizu would send him into the path of Meiji troops, Okita decided to travel through Narita towards the sea. He'd then walk north along the shoreline until he reached Hamadouri, effectively avoiding the enemy.  
  
It had taken him four whole days to reach Narita, a trip he could have made in one, had he been healthy. His body ached from moving, the agony at times so great that Okita had taken to carrying a small stick, so he could bite down on when he felt like moaning, crying, or screaming.  
  
Upon reaching Narita, however, things took a turn for the worse. Okita had been able to make contact with the wife of one of his men. She told the former Captain that he'd been misinformed.  
  
She gave Okita the dispatches and news she'd collected over the past weeks. Those same pieces of paper were now only barely visible in the distance.  
  
Hijikata had been in Aizu, but he'd since left for Hakodate, in Ezo. The distance to the northernmost island of Japan was three times as far as Aizu. Souji knew he couldn't make it that far, no matter how hard he tried, how much pain he denied, how much determination he could muster. His body just couldn't go the distance.  
  
And Kondo-san...  
  
Kondo-san had been captured by the Meiji government. Only a few weeks earlier, he had been executed.  
  
The rest of the Shinsengumi Captains were scattered to the winds. Some had died. Some were missing, and some had returned to their homes. A few of the surviving Shinsengumi had gone with Hijikata to Ezo.  
  
There weren't any battles Okita could reach.  
  
Souji drew his knees up to his chest, pulling himself into a tight ball.   
  
It wasn't like they needed him anyway. The world had continued in the same vein as always, violent and bloody and chaotic, with or without his presence. For every application of 'Aku Soku Zan' he had undertaken, every man he had killed, two more had sprung up as replacements.  
  
All he had wanted was to die with dignity, with honor...with someone who understood his life.  
  
Not alone in the hospital. Not alone.  
  
After Narita, Okita had continued on his journey towards the sea. He couldn't go back to Tokyo. Not now. But, there was no reason to go to Aizu either.   
  
So the sea...  
  
Was it.  
  
Souji slept in the shadow of the large rock, curled into himself like a dying insect.   
  
He dreamt of running. Running through the streets of Kyoto, chasing the Hitokiri Battousai. The feared assassin was fast, but try as he might, he couldn't hide that deadly ki from someone as perceptive as Okita Souji. Himura Battousai. One of only a few which ever got away...  
  
Souji awoke to find the winds had slackened to a cool late-afternoon breeze. Smooth waves tinged with only the faintest of white froth lapped lazily at the shoreline. In the air, gulls soared and dived, competing with one another in an eternal search for the taste of fish.  
  
The sea was it.  
  
He'd been heading east, and he'd continue east.  
  
With a finger, Souji wrote his final haiku in the sand. "Cerulean waves. Surrounding my shoulders like...my old haori." Aside the poem, he laid his swords, deciding it would make a nice picture for the high tide to wash away.  
  
And with that, Okita Souji walked into the sea.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Heaven had a crackling fire, and smelled distinctly of roasting oysters. How unexpected. Okita had figured on a more ephemeral smell for heaven. Maybe a flower scent, coupled with the sounds of children laughing. But, no. This particular version contained the muttering of an old man.  
  
Okita's eyes popped open to find a most frightening sight. A wrinkled old geezer was speaking to him, and occasionally poking him in the forehead, neck, or cheek with one long, bony finger.  
  
"Yare, yare. Wake ye up, fishboy." The old man grinned, exposing a mouth missing several teeth. "Ah. Good. Didna wish ye to choke on the medicines. Sit up, sit up. What? Can ye not sit up, even? Stunned by my beauty, is you?"  
  
Okita only sputtered unintelligibly, trying to get his bearings on who, what, where...  
  
"The sea coughed ye up. She didna want yer stinkin' bones for the fishies ye see? Yah. Yah. Ye canna make a sacrifice o'yerself to the Sea Goddess when ye got disease in the bones. She don't like it none." The old man bent forward to help Okita sit up. A hiss passed Okita's lips at the movement, and yet, his lungs didn't feel as horrible as they had before. Just a dull ache.   
  
"My...swords..." Okita finally managed the two words as he watched the old man stand and move about what appeared to be a simple fishing hut.   
  
"Aa. Thems be gotten already. See. Here they be." The man motioned towards the katana and wakizashi leaning against the wall. "Bunbu find all yer things, ah? Now..." The old man picked up a clay bowl from among several smaller ones sitting in a semi-circle by the futon. He stirred it with a long ladle before crouching down beside Okita once again. "Now you takes medicine. What? No, don't be scared, fishboy. Bunbu is good sensei. Know best medicines from his Korea homeland, mmm? Drink drink."  
  
Okita took the bowl and raised it to his lips, peering for a moment at his reflection in the murky rust-colored liquid.   
  
Kami-sama. He did look like a skeleton covered in skin.  
  
The thick liquid slid down Okita's throat. It felt like the algae Souji had once slipped on in a stream as a boy, at the same time both spongy and slick. But, it tasted like fire.  
  
Okita succeeded in not gagging, but a few drops of the medicine escaped and rolled down his chin. He wiped these away with the back of his wrist before asking, "What's in it?"  
  
Bunbu laughed, taking the bowl from Okita. "Ye put many thing in life medicine. Red seaweed. Sake. But, always most important, crushed pearl. Pearl, she come to me today wearing midnight gown. This omen she make so I know ye come. Pearl cure everything. Ye will see."  
  
Okita's lips moved from side to side as he watched Bunbu go to turn over some skewered poles of roasting oysters. 'So. I've been rescued by a crazy foreigner,' Okita decided.  
  
"How you like oyster, fishboy?"  
  
"It's...Okita Souji...sir."  
  
"Sokita Sushi?" Bunbu shook his head, "No, ye already give yer name away. Sea Goddess, she not keep ye, but she keep yer name. Ye think up new one. Bunbu, ah, Bunbu make dinner. Bunbu is best cook, even better cook than doctor. Ye will see."  
  
Okita slumped forward, his forehead in his hands. He'd failed. He'd failed to make the Shinsengumi a success. He'd failed to protect his friends and family. He'd even failed at killing himself.  
  
"Fishboy..."  
  
Okita grunted mournfully in response.  
  
"Sea Goddess give ye second chance. Yer life belong to her, now." Bunbu's previous tone of humor and amusement washed away into seriousness. "Ye can not try to take yer own life ne'er again. Ne'er again, hear? Make promise."  
  
"I..." Okita looked up to find the old man holding out a skewer of half-burnt oysters. Bunbu's aged eyes searched Okita's face, full of understanding. Bunbu knew, Okita realized then. Maybe not everything, but the old crab knew enough.   
  
"Make promise as warrior."  
  
"Yes," Okita whispered, taking the offered food, "I promise."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
And that was how Okita Souji, First Captain of the Shinsengumi, became Kenki Sou, pearl farmer in the employ of old Bunbu.  
  
Somehow, Bunbu turned out to be right. Okita never knew if it was the sea water which had filled his lungs, or Bunbu's medicine, or the Sea Goddess herself, but after that day his health quickly returned. The coughing became less and less intense, until one day he realized he couldn't remember when he'd last felt that familiar pain in his lungs.  
  
The friendship which formed between the young man and the old hermit could be termed nothing less than strange. Okita taught Bunbu better Japanese, and Bunbu taught Okita how to live off the sea.   
  
In some ways, Okita liked this odd new life. He'd never been anything else besides a swordsman. It felt good to know that his hands could be used for something besides killing.  
  
He restricted himself to Bunbu's property for many years, fearing that his face would be recognized in the nearby villages. After a while, he no longer missed the companionship of others. The beach became Okita's safe haven from a world which would likely remain hostile to his presence for a very long time.   
  
They'd killed Kondo-san. And, from what Okita had heard by way of Bunbu's inquiries in town, Hijikata-san had died, too. Harada-san had perished during the Ueno wars, and Saitou-san...  
  
Saitou-san had just plain disappeared.  
  
Outside of the oysters...and Bunbu...and the Sea Goddess...  
  
There was nothing in the world which wanted Okita Souji.  
  
And then, one day, they started to appear. Souji had no idea how the young men who sought him out could have possibly known where to find him. Rumors, they said. Whispers of whispers. They came for vengeance and for glory. They came to topple the undefeated Captain of the Shinsengumi to honor the memory of long dead fathers, and uncles, and brothers and sons.   
  
They came by way of the beach, and they left by way of the sea. Body after broken body offered to the Sea Goddess as a reward for the strength she had returned to Okita.  
  
They always, always, fell to his sword,  
  
No matter how much he hoped that someday...  
  
Just maybe...  
  
He'd finally lose.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Meiji 11. Seaside.  
  
Soujirou's bottom lip stuck out a bit as he worked on his current oyster. His legs dangled over the side of the small pier, swinging back and forth, skimming his naked toes across the blue-green water. By his side sat two buckets. The first, filled with freshwater, was for cleaning the oysters. The second was for the discarded oyster meat and liquor, which Okita said they'd use for dinner.  
  
An open metal trap, just one of countless Okita had constructed for raising his oysters, sat at Soujirou's other side, the shelled sea creatures within glistening like nuggets of wet coal.  
  
"We throw away almost nothing," Okita had said, "Shells with large deposits of mother-of-pearl can be sold to decorate hair combs and knife handles. Misshapen pearls well fetch a decent price at an apothecary. And truly round, lustrous ones...well, don't worry. You probably won't find one."  
  
The water rippled beneath the nearly cloudless sky, the surface undulating softly like a bed sheet tossed in the air. Soujirou took a small break from trying to pry open an oyster with the short knife Okita had given him. He scanned the nearby water, watching until Okita emerged further down the shore, near a post where other traps had apparently been tied.   
  
Okita, Soujirou noted, swam as well as a fish. He could stay underwater for a remarkable period of time, emerge for only a breath or two, and then return to his work.   
  
For his part, Soujirou did indeed feel better today. The gash on his head had finally stopped weeping blood and pus, and he could bear the sunlight much better. Nonetheless, he'd borrowed a straw hat from Okita to keep at least a little shade.   
  
Still, his ankle wouldn't bear his weight. He'd sprained it fairly badly, they'd discerned. He wouldn't be performing the Shukuchi anytime soon.  
  
Soujirou returned to his work, trying to hold the closed oysters like Okita had shown him. Twice now, he'd attempted to work the knife into the dip in a shell's hinge only to have the entire oyster slip out of his hand and shoot back into the ocean with a plop.  
  
Nonetheless, the work was vaguely pleasing. It wasn't particularly -rewarding-. But, it didn't involve murdering anyone, so Soujirou found it peaceful enough.  
  
"You can't stab them," Okita's voice said from behind Soujirou. The older man reached up onto the pier and pulled himself out of the water. Like some sort of sullen, dripping wet merman, Okita moved across the pier and pulled his own knife from where he'd tied the sheath on his upper arm. (So he wouldn't lose it while underwater, Soujirou supposed. No wonder Okita only ever wore those green pants. Any additional clothing would weigh him down.) "See? You're not trying to kill them." Okita picked up one of the oysters and easily slid his knife into the joint. With a flick of his wrist, the oyster popped open, exposing the inner muscle to both men. "It's like slipping a katana between a man's ribs, and then turning the blade to break them. Got it?"  
  
Soujirou nodded, smiling brightly. At least Okita used examples he could understand.  
  
"Good, because if you lose any more oysters we're going to have to go without dinner." Okita turned around, apparently intent on fixing a broken trap he'd found earlier. Of course, they weren't really -traps-, but more like cages where Okita stored the young oysters he'd found while diving. He seemed to have some sort of system. These oysters needed another year, those oysters needed three, and still more needed to be turned so that they wouldn't always face the current in the same way.  
  
Could a swordsman, Soujirou wondered, really do this with his life?   
  
Well, at least Okita had a trade. Himura, from what Soujirou understood, cleaned a dojo to pass the time.  
  
Oh right. Himura. Soujirou hadn't told Okita about that yet. He couldn't decide if it would be a good idea to reveal anything about Himura...or Shishio-san. Obviously, Okita had been on the side opposing theirs during the war. So, who knew how he'd take the news.  
  
And the hermit was already grumpy enough.  
  
Oh, well. Maybe tomorrow. For today, Soujirou just wanted to sit on this quiet pier, watch the ocean, look for pearls, and think about his life.  
  
Okita glanced at the boy out of the corner of his eye as he pretended to repair the trap. His knife in hand, he waited for the right moment. He'd lunge, grab the boy's head, and slit his neck. Simple as that. Quick and painless. It was the best he could do for the kid.  
  
"Okita-san?"  
  
Okita palmed his knife and returned to his ruse with the trap. "What?"  
  
"Ano...did you write that poem? That one I saw on the beach? About the ocean?"  
  
What the hell was the kid getting at, now? Okita bit the inside of his cheek and grunted a surly, "Maybe. Why?"  
  
"I only know one poem, but it is about pearls, so I thought maybe you would like to know it."  
  
"Whatever," Okita said, his knife slipping again into his grip as he leaned forward. Now. He had to do it -now-. Much more time in the company of this kid, and he wouldn't...he might lose his nerve...he might...  
  
"Lets see, hm, how does it go?" Soujirou tilted his head back, looking up at the sky. "Dewdrops of sadness, tears fall as I weep. I catch them as they harden, white pearls I shall keep." Soujirou scrunched his face up and returned to poking at the oyster in his hands, "I don't know if it is a good poem or not, but it is the only one I know."  
  
Okita's knife fell from his hand, clattering upon the wooden pier. The wild-haired man's eyes grew wide as he struggled to breathe. He felt his hands tremble as fiercely as the rippling waves.  
  
That poem.  
  
Her favorite poem. Whenever he cried, for any reason, it would be the first thing to spill from her lips.  
  
"Soujirou..."  
  
The Tenken looked over his shoulder, a bit startled that Okita had actually called him by his name instead of "kid" or "boy". "Yes, Okita-san?"  
  
"Soujirou, where did you hear that poem?"  
  
Soujirou rubbed the back of his head good-naturedly as he shrugged. "Its one of the only things I remember about my mother. She died when I was really young, you know."  
  
Okita shuffled forward on his knees and caught Soujirou by his shoulders. "Soujirou. Listen to me. Was her name Miyae?"  
  
A laugh tumbled from Soujirou's lips, "Yeah! That's clever, Okita-san. Her name was Kazenoko Miyae. How did you know?"  
  
Oh god. Of course it was. Why else would they look so alike? How stupid Okita had to be not to figure it out before.  
  
"You alright, Okita-san? You look like you're in pain."  
  
One whispered word fell from Okita's lips. "Soujirou."  
  
"Haaaiiii?" This was creepy, Soujirou decided. He wondered if poetry broke Okita the same way Himura's philosophy had broken -him- on Mt. Hiei.  
  
"No," Okita continued, "Soujirou is my birth name. Not Souji. Soujirou."  
  
"Ohhhh?" Soujirou nodded despite the fact that he -still- didn't understand what Okita was trying to say. "That's strange, isn't it?"  
  
"Damnit, Soujirou. It -would- be strange -if- we didn't have the same mother! Do you get it, now?"  
  
Soujirou blinked as the information sunk into his damaged head. Same mother. Same mother. So that would mean....  
  
Soujirou's oyster tumbled from his hand and rolled off the pier.  
  
"You're my brother?"  
  
As soon as Soujirou said the last word, he found himself being crushed to Okita's chest. "Kami-sama, you're such an incredible idiot."  
  
Squirming a bit, Soujirou asked, "What are you doing, Okita-san?"  
  
"I'm embracing my long lost brother, of course."  
  
From within Okita's arms, Soujirou murmured perplexedly, "Ah, so that's what this is all about. I see."  
  
Above his little brother, Okita closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief.  
  
He'd just narrowly avoided committing fratricide.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
***In Our Next Chapter: Our two heros undertake a journey to find out what happened to their mother. But, SURPRISE SURPRISE (not), they're being followed! Will Okita start to lighten up? Will Soujirou ever tell him about Himura and Saitou and the rest? Many, many surprises in store for the next chapter of Sen Akoyagai!  
  
***Author Notes:  
  
This chapter was so much fun to write that it only took me two days.   
  
Okay. Historical notes on the Shinsengumi for those who may not know (which is probably very few of you). Kondo was the chief captain of the Shinsengumi, and Hijikata was his Vice Captain. Okita trained in Kondo's dojo and both the men were said to be like older brothers to him. Kondo was killed as stated in the story. Hijikata died while fighting in Hokkaido.   
  
I should also mention that, at the time, in Japan, it was just as common for a woman to take her husband's surname as for her not to do so. HOwever, children -generally- took the surname of their fathers. This is how Okita, Soujirou, and their mother, can all have different names.  
  
***Review Notes:  
  
Thank you to all the reviewers. I didn't think anyone would care for this story at all. It's always a chance reading a new story, I know, so thank you so much for your time and effort in reviewing.   
  
Special thanks to:  
  
Pixie Ayanami: You should go ahead and write yours too! I'd definitely read it!  
  
Ooka-chan: They might just run into the Wolf of Mibu....somewhere down the line.   
  
April-san: You have Spock ears? How cool! Anyway, I hope this explains a little how Okita came to be where...and how...he is. In this story, I've fudged Okita's age a bit. He'd historically be 35, but since he is portrayed as being younger than he probably should have been in RK, I'm making him 32 or 33. I hope that is OK!  
  
MissBehavin: You're a clever one, all figuring out the plot already and everything. Well, hopefully I have a few things left up my sleeve to keep you interested. I hope. Yikes. You mind-reader, you.  
  
Veleda: I always wondered how Shishio could rationalize hanging out with Yumi, who had no fighting skills whatsoever. So, I picked that theory. Anyway, thanks for reviewing, as always!  
  
A Rurouni Kenshin Fan: I've seen it "Sen" and "San". Unfortunately, it is pronounced more like "sun". Romanji isn't an exact science, I guess. I'm so bad at Japanese...  
  
Wistful-Eyes: Really? You didn't guess? I thought everyone would figure it out super quick. I'm glad it wasn't as obvious as I thought. Well, glad you liked the story so far!  
  
Gemini1: Hooray for Okita, ne? Anyway, I hope you like how I insinuated Saizou into the story, teehee. As for PMK, I've only seen up to episode 13, but you taunt me with thoughts of Hijikata reading poetry! ACK!  
  
Nigihayami Haruko: I'm glad to hear it isn't run-of-the-mill. Sometimes those Rurouni Soujirou stories irk me, so I decided to write my own. :D Well, hope this update was quick enough for your tastes! :D :D  
  
Sailor-Earth13, Cherry Delight, slashofdragonblade, EEevee, seta-kun (Okita-power, Okita forever, my friend!) 


	3. Chapter 3: Siblings and Snakes

v~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Chapter Three: Siblings and Snakes  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Tsurayaki gripped the end of the wood-framed spyglass and turned, attempting to get a better view of the two men on the beach. The hard rock against his stomach was beginning to irritate him, but not quite as much as Yuki's singing.  
  
"In the trees, with bumblebees, crows and owls, crows and owls are waiting. Gobble you up, gobble you up, gobble you up, little girl..."  
  
Pressing his lips together, Tsurayaki watched Kenki Sou grab the younger man and press him to his chest. Ugh. Was Kenki -that- way? Who would have known? Well, it did make a bit of sense. After all, he was very anti-social, and -those- sorts of people probably wanted to hide any perverseness...  
  
"Tsura-ni, whatcha lookin' at?"  
  
Tsura glanced away from the glass towards the young woman laying on her back by his side. Almost sixteen now, and she still wore her hair in pigtails. Her green yukata lay open past her bent knees, exposing way more flesh than decent. Yuki held her colorful paper pinwheel up, giving the spinning kaleidoscope a backdrop of blue sky.   
  
Her face seemed so innocent. But, then, she was innocent. She didn't know anything. Her mind was far too simple to understand the evils of the world. She was a little girl trapped in the body of a young woman.  
  
She'd always been this way, as long as he could remember. Just a smidgen slower than everyone else. Just a bit too eager to believe anything she was told. Unable to remember anything bad, anything her childlike mind didn't want to believe.   
  
Unable to remember much of anything...  
  
But somehow, she always remembered him.  
  
"I'm just watching the beach, Yuki-chan." Yuki wouldn't understand, even if he spent all day explaining it to her. "What are you doing?"  
  
Keeping Yuki talking was the best way to keep her occupied. "I'm singing to the sky. It must get lonely to be so high. Rain is pain, a sad cloud having a cry..." Yuki began to hum quietly, continuing her tune from earlier.  
  
"I see," Tsura replied, returning to his task. He didn't need Yuki to make any sense. She often never did, anyway.   
  
From the bluff where he lay on his stomach, Tsurayaki could barely make out the two figures without the aid of his spyglass. Modern technology was quite a marvelous thing. Using only simple polished glass and wood, he could magnify the distant image. Now, if only he could read lips...  
  
"Tsura-ni?"  
  
"Aa?" Tsurayaki collapsed his spyglass with a click. He wouldn't learn anything more about Kenki Sou today. The hermit and his visitor were returning to the hut. He'd just have to wait. Maybe the smiling boy would leave after a day or two. That would definitely make things easier.  
  
"Do you think it hurts when people get shot?"  
  
Tsurayaki sat up and attempted to correct his sister's yukata, pulling the fabric back over her knees. "Yes, it does. But, you only shoot bad people, right? Bad people who have hurt other good people. So, it is only right for them to get hurt too, isn't it?"  
  
Catching the edge of her spinning pinwheel, Yuki poked her finger into the folded paper and drew a small circle, attempting to make the toy spin in the direction opposite of the wind. "But, how do I know that the people I shoot are bad?"  
  
Tsurayaki grinned softly. So simple. She was so incredibly simple. "Because I tell you they are, and big brother would never lie to you, right?"  
  
"Never?"  
  
"Never ever. Promise."   
  
Yuki leapt up and threw her arms around Tsurayaki's neck. Her rightmost pigtail bounced up and tickled his chin as she hugged him tightly. "You're the best, Tsura-ni. I love you so much. I'd be so sad if you weren't here."  
  
"I know, Yuki-chan, I know." He rubbed her back gently, waiting to be released. But, she only pulled him tighter, crushing her forgotten paper pinwheel between their chests.  
  
She'd make another one. Her little section of their dingy one-room shack was already littered with and pinwheels of every size...  
  
All of them riddled with bullet holes from target practice.  
  
So simple.  
  
And so very, very deadly.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
A brother.  
  
Soujirou didn't quite know what to think about that.  
  
Most people spoke of family as if it were something great, something to be cherished and adored for your entire life. He'd heard whispers of how your family was supposed to care for you, nourish you, help you to grow. Love you...unconditionally? But, Soujirou had always passed off those notions as fairy tales. Nice stories that people like Anji-san told, but holding no truths, no relevance to the real world.  
  
Family meant 'abandonment', 'fear', 'cruelty'. It meant being stuck with these things, and escaping them only by handing over your soul.  
  
Could he...  
  
Would he...  
  
Kill Okita-san, too?  
  
Soujirou watched as the older man stirred the oyster stew he'd been making. Okita-san looked like he might be lost in thought, too. The warmth of the fire had dried the man's hair into a stringy mess which twisted around his shoulders and back like dead vines. No, not 'Okita-san'. His brother. His brother who could swim very well, and was very grumpy, and called out the name of Himura Battousai in his sleep. His brother...  
  
His brother was interesting.  
  
"Ano...uhhh..." Soujirou winced mildly at his own voice. What should he call Okita? 'Okita-san' didn't seem right, but he didn't really know if it would be polite yet to call him anything else. Well, might as well try and see what sort of reaction he got. "Souji?"  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"You're practically ancient."  
  
Okita looked up from his cooking and wiped a bit of sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist. "I'm not -that- old. I'm only thirty-two."  
  
"Yeah," Soujirou replied, "Old."  
  
Okita harrumphed as he returned to cooking, ropes of hair falling in his face. "Have you considered the possibility that I'm not old, and instead, you're just merely a child?"  
  
"A child? But, I'll be eighteen in two weeks. I've fought..." Soujirou stopped himself. What a ridiculous thing to say. Why should he care if Okita thought of him as a kid? It made no difference at all. None. "Eh, maybe you're right," Soujirou cooed, as cheerful as possible despite the conflicts in his mind.  
  
Okita stared at the stew, watching as the broth turned golden brown. Eighteen? He'd been that age during the Ikeda-ya incident. He'd killed untold numbers of men by that time. How many? How many boys and men? It had to be done, but... Okita still wished he knew their names. He wished he could remember when their brothers and sons came for revenge. So that he could at least tell them with some modicum of truth, that he remembered how honorably they had died.  
  
"Here," Okita said, handing Soujirou a steaming bowl of pungent soup. "It's hot."  
  
Soujirou wondered why Okita had bothered to point out that the soup was hot. Of course it would be. It just came off the fire.   
  
Settling himself across from his younger brother, Okita picked out a chunk of oyster and popped it into his mouth. They tasted so good like this. Just like the first time Bunbu had cooked the soup for him. Bunbu had taken him in and showed him everything, how to care for the oysters. How to cook for himself. How to repair the nets, the traps. How to dive and...maybe even how to live with regret and sorrow as deep as the ocean.  
  
This kid. Okita still knew nothing about him. He'd said that his master had died, but...what kind of life did he lead before wandering? What would make a kid smile like that, even when in pain? Okita watched as Soujirou picked up a piece of oyster, inspected it, and then nibbled off the end.   
  
Okita decided his brother was...very interesting. And he needed to know more about him. And he needed to know more about their mother. "She was very young when she was married to my father."  
  
Soujirou looked up from his soup. "Huh?"  
  
"Mother. She was only fifteen. As the third daughter of her family, they wanted to marry her off to whomever they could. So, when father's family offered, they accepted. He was a very low rank samurai, and her family was of slightly higher rank, but fading fast. I was born the next year. Life in our little village was slow, and very calm, mostly. But, father died when I was eight. There was a terrible storm, and he was trying to pen up the chickens. Part of the barn roof blew off and crushed him."  
  
Soujirou didn't know quite what to say about that. Okita seemed genuinely sad to be talking about his deceased father. "I'm...sorry."  
  
"Yes. Well, I suppose..." Okita returned to poking at his food, "Mother did as well as she could for some months, but it was obvious that things weren't going well. When Kondo-san saw me practicing kata in the yard one morning, he asked my mother if he could take me to his dojo for some testing. I guess he liked what he found, because he told my mother that he wanted to train me. For free. So, mother put me into Kondo-san's hands, and sold our house. She moved to Kyoto to live with relatives. We wrote often, but then...one day...her letters stopped coming."  
  
Okita had stopped eating by now, and sat with his head turned towards the open door, gazing forlornly at the sea beyond.  
  
"Hijikata-san had contacts in Kyoto. He sent them to investigate and found that neighbors said the entire family died of cholera. But, I suppose...she didn't die after all..."  
  
Soujirou knew the rest of the story already. He felt something pull within his throat, as he puzzled at the way to relate the tragic events that had befallen their mother after that time. He had really only known her through the words of his uncles and aunts. Words like 'filthy' and 'low' and most of all 'whore'. He'd been so young when she'd given him away. He really couldn't remember much more about her.  
  
"She..." Soujirou nudged his food fruitlessly, chasing one cooked oyster around the bowl with the end of his chopsticks. "I guess she didn't have anyone else, so she went to the places where fallen and lonesome women tend to go. My father was from an up-and-coming rice merchant family. He was her patron. They were lovers, and maybe in love. I don't know. I used to like to think that there was some reason why..."  
  
Why she didn't drink the poison that could rid a woman of an unwanted child. She certainly must have had access to it. There was probably another reason, Soujirou thought. But, just sometimes, he liked to think that once, perhaps for a very short while, he might have been cherished. A foolish thought. Irrelevant. Who needed them? He could take care of himself. He always, always, had.  
  
"I only lived with her for the very first few years of my life. Then, one day, a man came for me. My father. I didn't know him, but mother said that I should go with him. He would, she said, provide me with a much better life than she ever could. I always supposed that they wanted to be married, but that my father's family wouldn't allow it. He seemed to be a kind man, at least. I enjoyed the few months we had before he..."  
  
Okita turned and watched as his brother related the tale. Soujirou's eyes...his eyes, at least, contained a modicum of sadness for once, darkening as his bangs fell in his face. But, his ki remained guarded. No, it was even -more- guarded. An impenetrable wall of blank steel. Cold and repellant.   
  
'Something happened to this boy,' Okita thought, 'Not just troubles of a normal life. Something evil pulled out his beating heart and crushed it underfoot. That smile... That smile is a battle scar.'  
  
"He died while traveling to a distant warehouse. There were bandits. I ran away several times when I grew older in an attempt to return to my mother. I finally found the house where she had lived with the other women. But, they told me that she was gone. Disappeared one night, they said. Only the old madame, Kiyato, knew what happened, supposedly. Unfortunately, Kiyato had retired to somewhere in southern Okinawa."   
  
Okita leaned forward suddenly, causing the bowl by his knees to wobble as he brushed against it. "You mean you don't know what happened to her for certain?"  
  
"No," Soujirou replied, "Shi...my shishou took me away from my father's house after..." Soujirou's left eyebrow twitched so lightly, Okita almost didn't notice it. "...after they all died. After my other relatives died."  
  
"And you haven't looked for her since then?"  
  
"No."  
  
Anger flashed across Okita's face, concentrating fiercely at his brows, "Why -not-?"  
  
"Why would I?" Soujirou closed his eyes. Okita had to strain to perceive the sharp edge in his voice as he continued. "She gave me away. Women are, by nature, weak. But she didn't even have the strength to care for one son. No. Two sons, it seems now. Why would I want to be associated with her? She's nothing important to me, because I was nothing important to her. She had no courage, no faith in herself. She is despicable, and not just because she was a whore..."  
  
"You..." Okita darted forward, lunging towards Soujirou with incredible speed. Both bowls of stew flew into the air as Okita's hand swung towards Soujirou's face. The younger of the pair dodged at the last second, his eyes wide. Soujirou leaned forward once again, and Okita found a very sharp chopstick pointed right at his chin.   
  
It was just a chopstick, but with enough force, Soujirou could ram it through the soft spot below Okita's jaw and cause a serious injury.  
  
"Please don't..." Soujirou said quietly, his shoulders trembling slightly as he forced himself to lower the utensil, "Please don't ever move to strike me, aniki. You'll end up hurt."  
  
Okita fell back onto his haunches, his eyes shaded by tangles of hair. Fisted hands relaxing, Okita's fingers spread over the tatami as he exhaled every inch of breath stored in his lungs. "Soujirou." Okita bit his own tongue in an attempt to force it to divulge more words. They came out mournful and whispered, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have. Please forgive me."  
  
"No," Soujirou replied, "I..." The smiling youth put his makeshift weapon down on the ground. Okita-san was asking him to...-forgive-. Why? Had his older brother done anything wrong? Soujirou wasn't certain. How dreadfully confusing everything was, all of a sudden. It would be so nice, right now, to be back at Mt. Hiei by Shishio-san's side. Shishio-san would at least have some idea of how one was supposed to interact with one's long lost brother. Why was Okita-san being so strange now? Perhaps he was upset because he had lost in the skirmish. That seemed reasonable. Losing could put anyone in a foul temper.  
  
"You called me 'Aniki'," Okita whispered, reaching up to push his hair out of his face.  
  
"I...did?"  
  
Straightening his back, Okita nodded curtly. He didn't look angry now, Soujirou noted. Just forlorn. "Would you call me that, Soujirou? From now on?"  
  
"Ano...uh...if you'd like."  
  
Okita grunted his approval and stood to find a rag to clean up the spilled stew. "You move quickly, even as injured as you are. You must have had a formidable shishou."  
  
"Yes," Soujirou replied, picking up chunks of spilled dinner and putting them into his bowl. "He was very strong."  
  
"Did you kill him?"  
  
Soujirou's head shot up, his face incredulous and wide-eyed. "What? Huh? No. Of course not. Why would you think..."  
  
"Nevermind, Soujirou, nevermind. Now. Lets try to have dinner together, again. And this time, remember, a chopstick is for eating. Not for killing your aniki, eh?"  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The darkness of the hut irritated Soujirou like a thick blanket in summertime. He couldn't sleep. And, indeed, it seemed that Okita wasn't faring much better in the endeavor.  
  
His brother's hands balled into fists as he flopped around on his futon like a fish out of water. Okita's blanket had already been tossed into some dark corner, leaving the agonizing man's chest visible to the room's other occupant. Soujirou watched as his brother's muscles reacted to some dream, some passing nightmare, and listened as troubled words spilled from Okita's lips.  
  
He was, quite definitely, a different man altogether when he slept.  
  
"I smell it, too. Blood. He's near, Saitou-san." Okita's face turned quickly to the side. "You men go north. Meet up with squad ten. Alert them..."  
  
Soujirou pulled on his own covers, hiding all of his face except for his eyes. This seemed almost -forbidden-, spying on a man in his sleep. He'd spied on a lot of people before, but never someone...he didn't intend to kill.  
  
"Hijikata-san, Kondo-san...everyone...everyone... I'm so sorry. I should have...I should have..."  
  
Was Okita sobbing? No. No, this was another sound. This was some sort of strange panting. Almost a whistle. The elder brother coughed lightly and flipped himself over onto his other side.  
  
"Himura...Battousai. Battousai... At last."  
  
Okita became still, his hands relaxing, his sudden strangled breathing returning to normal.   
  
"Now I can die, with honor."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Soujirou sat in the doorframe of the seaside hut, scrubbing at Okita's old dinnerware with a thick-bristled brush. Today, apparently, was not a day for checking the oyster traps. Instead, Okita had been spending the morning chopping wood.   
  
Thunk. Shwip. Plunk-plunk. Thunk. Shwip. Plunk-plunk.  
  
Okita cut through the wood like paper, even with his small dull axe. The wind coming off the sea kept them both cool, a refreshing change from the summer which had assaulted Soujirou during his travels.  
  
These old pots. They looked like they predated the formation of the Shogunate. Thick black iron, often bearing writing in some language Soujirou couldn't read. Yet, at least cleaning them was better than laying in bed.   
  
To Soujirou, it seemed like there was always something to do at Okita's house. Cleaning, mending, cooking, repairing. Not to mention Okita's actual -work- with the oysters. When he'd been with Shishio-san, Soujirou had endured a great deal of boredom. Besides actual assignments, he hadn't had much to do besides practice his sword skills. Occasionally, Yumi-san would attempt to teach him something, take him to the theater, or engage him in a game of shogi. But, he never felt exactly at ease with these things. Mostly, he just endured them for Yumi-san's sake.   
  
Okita had been pensive all morning, saying even less than usual, and then only in grunts. Soujirou was beginning to become inured to his brother's perpetual foul mood. He didn't seem angry so much as... Well, it was as if a stormy rain cloud had settled over his brother's mind, and just wouldn't lift. But then sometimes, just rarely, like last night, Soujirou could part the cloud and get a glimpse of the man underneath.  
  
Dunking a pot into the large wooden basin of water, Soujirou saw his own face smiling back at him. Well. It wasn't gone yet. Maybe his smile would outlast Himura's crossed scars. Who knew? His hair had grown quite shaggy. If he stayed here, maybe it would grow as long as Souji's. But could he stay? He hadn't really asked his brother about that, yet. To stay here a while would be nice. Yes. Maybe not forever, but at least long enough to get to know his brother. Himura wouldn't fault him for halting his journey long enough for that, would he?  
  
Soujirou's thoughts caused him not to notice that Okita had stopped chopping the wood and that the older man was now standing, axe in hand, watching Soujirou peer at himself in the water..  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
Soujirou lifted his head slowly, not a whit embarrassed to be caught gazing at his own reflection. "I was thinking about this place. It's calming. I'd like to stay here with you, aniki. For a while, anyway."  
  
Okita dropped the axe. It landed with a thud, blade down in the wood. He'd been thinking about it, as well. Now that he had a brother, now that things were different... Soujirou could definitely protect himself, even if people did come seeking revenge. But, something else had been plaguing Okita's mind. Their mother. She could be somewhere out there, right now, mourning for the two sons she was forced to give away. Waiting to be rescued from her own hellish guilt.   
  
But, trying to find her would mean he'd have to leave here. Leave this comfortable haven. Just from his biannual trips to the nearby town, he already knew that the world had changed since he'd left it behind. And yet, allowing his fear of the outside to consume him would not appeal to his unrelenting idealism. To -not- go merely because the beach meant safety...would be cowardice. And cowardice went completely against the code of bushido.  
  
"You can't stay here." Okita replied, bending to pick up blocks of wood and stack them beside the hut.  
  
"Oh?" Soujirou pulled a soaking pot out of the tub, turning his reflection into a fragmented puzzle. "Oh. I see." Well, could he really blame Okita? After that interlude with the chopstick, Soujirou really couldn't fault his brother for wanting to get rid of him.   
  
"I can't stay here either," Okita continued, "We have an obligation. An obligation as sons to find out where our mother is. If she is alive, we must put her mind at rest and let her know that we are fine. If she has passed on, we must learn her resting place and go to it. These are filial duties, and they can not be neglected by any swordsman."  
  
"Duty?" That was a new one to Soujirou. A sword was for strength, as far as he knew. It had nothing to do with duty.  
  
"Aa. Duty. Surely the concept is not foreign to you? A man has a duty to his family, to his ideals, and to his country. I've failed my country and my ideals, but if I will be damned before I fail my family."   
  
Soujirou reflected on this as he dried the iron kettle. He'd helped Shishio-san rebel against their country, and failed. The ideals he'd held dear had proven fruitless in the light of Himura's Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu. And his family...most of them had fallen to his wakizashi. But, now he had a brother. And, possibly, his mother might still be alive. Just maybe, if he could help Souji, then...in the end...he might not be such a failure after all.  
  
But, he didn't really care if his mother was alive or dead. Why should he? She'd abandoned him, left him in the care of those monsters. Souji, on the other hand, could have left him to die on the beach, but didn't. Okita cared. Maybe he had a strange way of showing it, sure. But, right now, Okita Souji was the only person in the world who really, truly, seemed to care if Seta Soujirou continued to exist.  
  
"I'll go with you, aniki."  
  
"Good." Okita smirked as he wiped his hands on his pants. "We'll leave as soon as your ankle heals."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Okita hissed and turned his head quickly, which only caused the pain to become more pronounced. Soujirou blinked in return and waited until his older brother faced forward again to continue.  
  
"Can't you be more gentle, Soujirou? I'm not going to have any hair left."  
  
The younger brother yanked on the brush, attempting to defeat the frustrating tangles in his brother's black mane. "I could cut it off, aniki. That would be relatively painless."  
  
"No." Definitely not. Okita hadn't cut his hair since he came to this place. In some cultures, he'd learned, leaving one's hair uncut was a sign of shame. He liked the thought. Men or women refusing to beautify themselves, or conform to society's rules of dress, until they could be redeemed. By their appearance, they set themselves apart as outcasts, as failures, until the day they had restored their honor. Quite poetic. But, as far as Okita knew, he'd die with his hair long. "No. It will not be cut."  
  
"Then sit still." After Okita complied, Soujirou began again. His brother's hair slowly transformed itself from a sea salt crusted net into a ribbon of ebony satin. Of course, this had all been Soujirou's idea. They were going to go into town, and Souji didn't seem to understand that he looked like a frightening wildman. The whole town was afraid of him, if what Chihori-san said was true. And having people frightened of you, Soujirou had found, wasn't very conducive to getting anything done in a marketplace. If he had known the task of fixing his brother's hair was going to be this difficult, however, he might have just suggested a hat. Encountering yet another tangle, Soujirou shook his head. "When was the last time you brushed your hair?"  
  
Okita shrugged.  
  
"When was the last time that you took a bath? And I mean, not in the ocean?"  
  
Okita shrugged again. "Waste of firewood."  
  
"Your skin is coated in flakes of dried salt, aniki. I can see them." Okita had no response to this. The only thing, besides being unable to find any concrete answers, which annoyed Soujirou about life as a rurouni had to be the lack of baths. Hunger and bad weather he could endure. But bathing properly, well, he missed that a great deal. Shishio-san did certainly have a fine taste in bathing. They'd visited numerous hot springs. And they had wonderful baths at Mt. Hiei, stocked personally by Yumi-san with a variety of exotic scents. Bathing was lovely, especially when it diminished the smell of blood.  
  
"You have to try to look less crazy, aniki. People are scared of you."  
  
"All the better for them, I'd say."  
  
"It will make it easier for us to travel," Soujirou explained, "If you look less wild, and far less suspicious."  
  
"Mm. I suppose."   
  
Soujirou finished brushing out his brother's hair and then tied it away from his face in a low ponytail at the nape of his neck with a piece of an old yukata sash he'd found. "There. Doesn't that feel better?"  
  
Okita turned his head to look at his brother while at the same time reaching back to touch his hair. It felt so different now, so strangely light and soft. "Yes. That is alright."  
  
"You look like a completely different person, now." Yes. Now that he'd convinced his brother to shed those old green pants in favor of a white yukata with dark grey waves painted at the hem, he looked almost -innocent- when he wasn't scowling. Before, Soujirou had thought the older man looked like what his nickname had suggested, a demon. A sea demon that might gnash its teeth at any passerby. But now, like this, he didn't resemble a demon at all. With his hair brushed and his muscled torso covered by the yukata, he looked...in fact...very gentle.  
  
"Are you finished with me?"  
  
"Yeah," Soujirou replied, using the walking stick Okita had given him in an attempt to stand. "We can go now. But, just to be on the safe side, maybe you should let me do the talking in town."  
  
They left the little hut, and walked slowly up the beach due to Soujirou's hurt ankle. It had become much less problematic over the last few days. He could stand on it now, as long as he didn't turn it awkwardly or put pressure on it for too long. His head, too, had healed a great deal. Now he only kept one strip of folded gauze on it, tying his hair back like the bandana worn by that loud street-fighter which followed Himura around.   
  
Soon, they left the beach in favor of a road into town. The branches of late summer's trees spread full and heavy over the path. Although they kept mostly in the shade, patches of sunlight would fall through and sprinkle their faces and clothing as they walked. Weeds and flowers alike grew unchecked by the roadside, inviting insects with their heady scent.   
  
Traveling on a road was nice, Soujirou had long since decided. Much less difficult than making your way through dense woods with nothing but nature to guide your path. Roads were, of course, far more dangerous than the forest. Well, more dangerous if your name -wasn't- Tenken no Soujirou.  
  
Both men wore swords at their hips. To not do so would have been a bad idea, they had agreed. Okita sported both his katana -and- his wakizashi, while Soujirou carried only a katana. He'd had no need for a wakizashi in a long time, and even carrying one tended to make him unnerved. Instead, he carried a concealed tanto for those emergency situations where one's katana might be out of reach.  
  
The town itself was unremarkable. Small, mildly prosperous due to its proximity with both the sea and the city of Narita, and fairly quiet. Not sleepy, exactly, for other patrons of the markets, taverns, and inns could be found traveling the road, but not exactly bustling with rowdy shows of life either.   
  
"You get our tickets at the harbormaster's office. I'll find supplies."  
  
"Tickets?" Soujirou asked.  
  
"We're not walking to Osaka. That would take us a week or more." Reaching into his sleeve, Okita brought out a small cloth bag. "Here. Boats from Yokohama stop by here occasionally to pick up fresh fish and extra passengers." Okita handed Soujirou two gold coins, causing the younger man to balk slightly. Who knew that Okita had any money at all? You certainly couldn't tell from the way he lived. "That should be enough with some left over. Buy whatever else you want. We'll meet back here in an hour."  
  
"Ano...thanks," Soujirou mumbled. By the time he looked up, Okita had already left, crossing the market square towards a shaded shop front with a rich blue awning.   
  
After a few quiet inquiries to passersby, Soujirou made his way to the harbormaster's office. Ticket prices turned out to be, in his estimation, quite fair. Strange, Soujirou had just assumed they would travel by foot to his hometown of Keita, on the route between Osaka and Kyoto. But, a boat would be much quicker, cutting the journey down to only a day or two.  
  
'When you have somewhere definite to go,' Soujirou supposed, 'You take the most expedient route to get there.'  
  
Soujirou took his change and headed back towards the marketplace. A few children played in the streets, rolling themselves about in awkward somersaults and botched cartwheels.   
  
'Now, what else do I need to buy? I haven't had this much money in a while. I'm not quite sure what to do with it.'  
  
Soujirou browsed carts and shops, not quite certain what to seek. He'd had to mend a couple holes in his clothes already, but nothing which would require them to be replaced. He had all his cleaning utensils for his katana. His shoes had been holding up fine.  
  
As time drug on, Soujirou couldn't come to any decisions. Nothing caught his fancy. Beyond the clothes on his back, his blades, and a good pair of shoes, Soujirou hadn't ever really desired anything. So as not to disappoint his brother, Soujirou ended up buying a pair of paper fans. Fans were useful things, at least, good for combating the lingering summer heat.  
  
He spotted his brother across the market, ducking into a brightly decorated shop, a thick bag of purchases hanging at his side. 'Well, might as well meet back up with aniki early.' Soujirou made his way towards the shop, using his walking stick as efficiently as possible to assist him to his destination.  
  
Peering in the doorway, Soujirou was met with a most interesting sight. Okita Souji was squatting in front of a display, ogling the contents of multicolored paper boxes, gesturing quietly to the young attendant.  
  
Boxes, it appeared, which contained bushels of candy. The smell of the sweet shop was overwhelmingly divine, an opinion which appeared to be shared by Okita who bent his face closer to a box and inhaled.   
  
"Some of these, please," Okita said softly, his eyes shining with childlike greed. "These too."   
  
"Yes, Kenki-san, yes," the woman replied, obliging the murmured requests. "My, you have such a sweet tooth."  
  
Okita didn't reply to this comment. He merely pointed at another cache of candies.  
  
"Those too, Kenki-san?"  
  
Okita nodded and bit his bottom lip. He proceeded to stare at his feet just like a kid caught in the act of stealing sweets before dinner.  
  
Before he could be spotted, Soujirou silently withdrew from the shop and made his way back to the middle of the square. Watching that whole exchange had been singularly bizarre. Was that even his brother? Couldn't have been. His brother was an irascible hermit who was still fighting the Revolution in his sleep. This person acted more like...well...like a lost little boy.  
  
"Did you get the tickets?"  
  
Soujirou spun around to find Okita standing next to him. His previous demeanor now gone, the older man appeared to be glaring hard at a pair of passersby who had ventured too close, invading his personal space.  
  
"Aa. Tickets and these fans. For if we get hot."  
  
Okita turned his head and peered at his brother, eyes narrowed. "That's all you bought?"  
  
"Was I supposed to get something else? Here, I brought you back your change."  
  
Okita took the money, albeit rather reluctantly, without taking his eyes off his brother. "Soujirou, don't you want anything?"  
  
"Mmmm," the humming noise issuing from Soujirou's lips drew out into a long wavering note. "Nope. Can't think of anything I need."  
  
"This doesn't have anything to do with what you need, kid. This has to do with what you want. You can buy things just because you like them, you know. Don't you have anything you like? Anything you enjoy?"  
  
"I like not dying, aniki," Soujirou said, his voice peppered with the hope that such an answer would suffice.  
  
One of Okita's thin dark eyebrows lifted. "Don't you have anything you like to do? I mean...besides things having to do with your sword or wandering around Japan?"  
  
"Uhhhhh. Ano..."  
  
"You need a hobby, Soujirou."  
  
Soujirou laughed good-naturedly and nodded, "Perhaps so, perhaps so. I might should try my hand at poetry like you, eh, aniki?"  
  
Okita sighed, mild exasperation apparent in his fallen shoulders. Sometimes his little brother could be creepy, it seemed. What sort of kid isn't interested in anything in the world? Was that all Soujirou had been doing? Floating around Japan aimlessly, without any ideals or dreams or passions to guide his way? How could a man live, without anything to look forward to? Just wanting to live, but having nothing for which -to- live, seemed so...so...  
  
Desperately hopeless.  
  
"I don't know that poetry would suit you, Soujirou. But, you could certainly try." Okita shook his head sadly and motioned towards a tavern across the way. "Lets go there. We can eat and you can rest your ankle."  
  
Before he could take three steps in the direction of the dining establishment, Soujirou's head turned towards the west.  
  
"Aniki..."   
  
Okita, too, was stopped, peering in the same direction as his brother. "Aa. We're being watched. No. Scrutinized."  
  
"Who do you think..."  
  
"Too far away to tell. Probably just curious townspeople, though. Lets go inside."  
  
On a rooftop, several buildings away, Tsurayaki pursed his lips. He adjusted his spyglass carefully, trying not to reflect the sunlight and give away his position.  
  
"Tsura-ni, Tsura-ni, did you find the bad man?"  
  
Ignoring his sister's question, Tsurayaki collapsed the telescopic lens and headed towards the side of the building where they'd stashed the ladder. "Come on, Yuki. We need to go figure out why they have boat tickets. We have to go to the harbor. You like the harbor, remember?"  
  
"Lots to see, you and me. Boats are for going far. Guided by a distant star." Yuki trailed behind her brother, looking around in utter confusion. What were they just talking about? She couldn't remember. They must be going somewhere. Best just to follow Tsura-ni. Try to keep up. Yes, she must try to keep up with her brother.  
  
Tsura-ni knew everything there was to know about the world, Yuki supposed. And if he didn't know, then he knew how to find out. He was seven years older than her. -Seven-. She could always remember that. That's how many bullets she had before reloading. Two in the right pistol, two in the left, two in the one which she hid at her back, and one bullet in the emergency gun strapped to her leg. Seven.   
  
Of course, Tsura-ni didn't need guns. He was the best fighter in all of Japan. Probably the whole world. No one had ever beaten him, anyway. So, as far as Yuki could tell, that made him the best. He used to work somewhere, didn't he? Somewhere where he lifted heavy things all day, and because of it, he had grown very strong. Yuki thought that might be right. It might be.  
  
Yuki looked up at the sky, watching as a bird passed overhead. She shaped her hand into an "L" and pointed up at the flying creature. Moving her thumb forward, she whispered, "Pow. Gotcha."  
  
"Come on, Yuki."  
  
"Where are we going, Tsura-ni?"  
  
"To the harbor," Tsurayaki replied. She'd forgotten already?  
  
"Have I ever been there before?"  
  
Tsurayaki tried not to sigh. She always got worse during this time of year. By the time fall was in full bloom, he'd be hard pressed to keep her from forgetting her own name. "Yes, imoto. We live there, remember?"  
  
"Oh." Yuki replied cheerfully, climbing down the ladder after her brother, "Right."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Hijikata-sama! Hijikata-sama!"  
  
A white-sleeved hand holding a cigarette raised up to halt the noisy speaker. Curls of smoke drifted through the air, tobacco mixed with incense, casting the already cave-like room into a haze.   
  
"I didn't know your kind could cause such a racket."  
  
A black-clad figure slid into the room, kneeling respectfully in apology. "The news will please you."  
  
"Will it?"  
  
"In return for passage to China, a certain Yukishiro Enishi gave us quite interesting information."  
  
"Yukishiro...Yukishiro..." A line of ash fell to the floor. "I'm not familiar with the name."  
  
"Ah, he's not important. We did learn from him, however, that Saitou Hajime is still alive. Alive and in quite admirable health."  
  
This provoked a response from the usually stoic figure sitting in meditation. A head tilt. "So ka? Saitou Hajime, hm? He was formidable."  
  
"Takani Megumi, as well."  
  
Silence permeated the air. The crouching figure in black leaned forward slightly, as if to catch any whispered words or slight gestures.  
  
"Takani Megumi? The young daughter of Takani? I remember her. She was quite winsome."  
  
"Hijikata-sama, shall I go to discern..."  
  
"No." The smoking figure replied curtly, "You've done well Gin-hebi. Go and assemble the Jadokubatsu. I will go, myself, to investigate this information."  
  
"Yes, Hijikata-sama." With these words, the crouched figure faded completely into the shadows, and disappeared.  
  
The figure dressed in white turned to look at the smoke slowly rising from the incense burner. Smoldering just like that time... No one should be expected to live with those images seared into their mind. No one.  
  
"Now they will pay," came Hijikata Nobue's whisper, "Pay for what you took from me in so many battles. And above all, you will pay for Aizu."  
  
The rail-thin woman stood and raised one arm to twist her long hair up into a loose pile.   
  
One arm...  
  
The only arm she possessed.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"It's all arranged then? She knows what to do? You trust her?"  
  
Soujirou nodded and tied his traveling pack down more tightly. "Don't worry, aniki, Chihori-san will do a fine job looking after your house. She's trustworthy, and even if she wasn't, I don't think she'd chance you coming back to find something amiss. Like I said, the entire village is afraid of you."  
  
Okita continued to scowl as he wrapped their swords in a piece of linen and tied them off with rope so they wouldn't rattle. They certainly couldn't wear them on the boat. Instead, Okita decided to take an old bokken Bunbu had bought him some years back. And Soujirou had that tanto he didn't think Okita knew about.  
  
"You should get a wakizashi, Soujirou."  
  
"Oh? Don't need one, really."   
  
"Could be useful someday, you never know."  
  
"Hm." Soujirou sounded cheerfully in response. Okita had learned it was a noise that meant that his brother wasn't going to deride the proposal vocally, but that he wasn't going to consider it, either.   
  
The younger man watched Okita out of the corner of his eye, laughing silently as his brother slipped a sack of candy into his traveling bag.   
  
"Your ankle?"  
  
Soujirou's head turned quickly back to his own packing as Okita looked up from his clandestine squirreling away of sweets. "It's fine."  
  
Okita smirked as he grunted in approval. Soujirou wouldn't tell him if it -was- hurting, so asking amounted to nothing. Still, the kid walked on it properly now, if a bit slowly. It would be fine. They were taking a boat, after all. And the journey from Osaka to Keita didn't amount to much...  
  
Soujirou suddenly became still. He ceased tying the strings on his pack and looked over his shoulder towards the door.  
  
"Aniki..."  
  
"Aa?" Okita looked from Soujirou, across the floor, towards the open shoji. A tremor ran up his spine as he realized the beach had acquired a trespasser. The newcomer's ki flooded the small hut like a tsunami driven landwards from the sea beyond. Looking down at the wrapped swords in his hands, Okita sighed lightly. He wasn't really prepared to kill anyone today. In fact, he hadn't thought much about his life's curse all week. "I see. How ill-timed. Stay here, Soujirou. I'll chase him off." '  
  
'Or kill them and dump them in the ocean,' Okita added mentally, as a mournful tide of guilt washed over his thoughts, 'Depending on how persistent they decide to be.'  
  
Soujirou said nothing, he merely let his eyes follow Souji to the door. Then he put down his travel pack and picked up the walking stick he had been using.  
  
'Silly Aniki,' Soujirou thought as he stepped into the afternoon sunlight, 'You must really be out of practice if you didn't sense that there are two trespassers. However did you survive those terrible wars?'  
  
On the beach, a muscle-bound man a few years Soujirou's senior stood, his arms crossed. He held no weapons, but he didn't exactly look like he was on a peace mission, either. His blue-black hair rippled over his shoulders, catching on the thick wool of his homespun gi.  
  
"Kenki Sou," Tsurayaki declared, watching his opponent approach, "I've come for what is mine."  
  
"Is that so?" Souji replied evenly as his hand fell on the hilt of his bokken, "And what would that be?"  
  
Tsurayaki snorted and rolled his eyes. "This land, you fool. The land and the pearls. Tell me where they are, and I will let you die swiftly."  
  
Back by the hut, Soujirou pressed his fingers to his temple as his smile slipped a few millimeters. He gazed up the beach until he saw a tiny spot of pink blow out from behind a large boulder.  
  
"Oh Souji," Soujirou muttered, "You're going to get yourself shot."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Chou!"  
  
The odd looking man from Kansai opened one eye and looked up at his employer. From where Chou had been napping in the corner of the office, he could only see Saitou's upper shoulders and head. The lanky man blew smoke out of his nose and tapped his fingers on the desk in annoyance. "Stop...snoring...or....die."  
  
Chou pursed his lips and rolled his eyes in response. The Boss was ending everything with "Or die" today. Who knew why. Oh, that's right, his wife's sister had moved in with them this week. Chou suppressed a chuckle. No wonder the Boss was looking for any excuse to take a trip. Between his wife, her sister, their adopted son Eiji, and his two sons, he probably never got a lick of peace at home.   
  
"Think there's such a thing as a city bein' too peaceful, Boss?"  
  
Ash. Inhale. Exhale. "Ahou. That just means the criminal elements are planning something."  
  
"Yeah, but..."  
  
A knock on the office door prevented any further protest. Scuttling in after Saitou's grunt of admittance, a haggard looking officer saluted and began his report.  
  
"Three weeks ago, there were some murders south of Tokyo, sir. All of them along roads heading northeast towards Narita. Witnesses say that the assailant identified himself as Tenken no Soujirou, and that his build and features coincide with the description you provided."  
  
Saitou Hajime's cigarette, pressed between his lips, dropped a centimeter. Slowly, he plucked the cigarette from his mouth and turned to look out the nearby window.  
  
"Proceed with your report. I want every detail."  
  
Chou crooked an elbow into his knee and leaned a cheek against his hand. So, the kid was on a murder spree, eh? What a nuisance. And now the Boss would want to track the boy down and capture him.  
  
Might as well try to descend into hell and arrest Shishio Makoto.  
  
Might as well attempt to convince Himura Kenshin to feast on the blood of babies.  
  
Might as well coax Yukishiro Enishi into calling his sister a plague-ridden whore.  
  
Capture Tenken no Soujiro?  
  
Riiiiiiight.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
***In Our Next Chapters: Tsk, tsk, Soujirou, have you been on a killing spree? Will Okita get shot? And, if he doesn't, will the brothers find out what happened to their mother? Will Soujirou ever tell Okita about his past? What's with this one-armed Hijikata Nobue and the aforementioned Jadokubatsu? The answers to these questions and more in the next chapters of Sen Akoyagai.  
  
***Author Notes:   
  
I'm changing the title of this story to "San Akoyagai". Apparently, the Japanese glossary I was using used the rather uncommon romanji "sen". Oh well, I hope it won't confuse anyone.  
  
Well, not a lot of action in this chapter. Had to introduce the antagonists, though. Well, some of the antagonists, anyway. There will be some Action and swordfighting in this story, but other plot arcs will focus more on the psychological aspects of the two...soon three...main characters. (It is -Three- Pearl Oysters, after all.) No, the third character has not been mentioned yet.   
  
There may eventually be some light romance in the story, but that won't happen until -far- down the line.  
  
For this story, yes, Soujirou is 17, about to turn 18. I've looked on many websites and have seen him listed everywhere from 16 to early twenties. Souji should be around Saitou's age, but I've made him a few years younger. (I think this jives with the OVAs, where he looks younger than Saitou by a bit. But, he's still older than Kenshin.)  
  
There will be a few original characters in this story, but I will try to make sure they are interesting and don't obscure the our beloved canon characters.  
  
Hijikata, according to one website I read, was the youngest of 6 siblings. I made the name for his sister up, though, as I was not able to find a list of their names. According to another website, Tokio had a younger sister named Tami, and a younger brother Seinosuke. If you begin to see a theme here, there is one. I am often very interested in sibling relationships, and I don't find that there are enough stories that write about them in a realistic manner.  
  
This chapter was also largely to show the brothers getting more comfortable being around one another, and to set up some themes for further chapters.   
  
If anyone didn't notice, much of Okita's personality and physical appearance for this story has been taken from Peacemaker Kurogane. (Not the grumpy part. Just the glimpses into the -real- Okita.)  
  
***Glossary Notes:  
  
Gin: Silver  
  
Hebi: Snake  
  
Jadoku: Snake poison. (Dearest readers of my other stories, I didn't use the Hachinisasareru again, just to be unconfusing.)  
  
Aniki: Older brother, of course. I suppose Okita should call Soujirou "ototo", but he prefers to just call him Soujirou.  
  
***Review Notes:  
  
It seems that some of the review notes from the last chapter were accidentally cut off. My apologies!  
  
Thanks to everyone who reviewed. It may be a while before I get the next chapter up, as I should probably update some of my other stories, and I am working diligently on my novel. :D :D Anyway, thanks again to all readers for taking the chance on this story about two lesser characters from RK. I know that every story, every chapter, you read and review is a chunk out of your time and has a chance of completely disappointing you. :(  
  
Wolf Of Mibu: I've decided not to post an epilogue to H&T. I still need to post the appendix, however. *rubs head* I think I may have forgotten all the stuff I wanted to put in the appendix. Argh.  
  
Lizzy44: Much more torment for the brothers to come!  
  
Youkai Girl: I -adore- Okita. Soujirou confuses me sometimes, though. He's pretty hard to write, mainly because he is so single-minded.  
  
Trupana: A couple of different people suspected that Okita was going to be his father. But, I think this is more fun. Anyway, Watsuki-sensei based the character of Seta Soujirou loosely off of Okita in some ways. (Well, he says he did, anyway.) The funny thing about Okita and Soujirou are that they both have inconsistent hair colors in the anime! Sometimes black, sometimes brown. Guess the animators couldn't make up their minds. You've hit the nail on the head about why the mother named two sons the same. I guess she keeps trying to replace the things she lost with new ones. I'm sorry I haven't read Icicle Lovin' yet, but it is on my favorite stories list now, so I should get to it next time I run through unread fics. :D  
  
lone_wolf_236: Bunbu was supposed to be very -Yoda-. In a way, I guess, Soujirou and Okita reminds me of Obi Wan and Luke. (Except Okita isn't -that- old.) Anyway, I know, I guess I have a -problem- wanting to give Okita some family. I very much enjoyed writing the Seichii/Souji bits in H&T and thought this would be a way to somewhat capture that, but at the same time explore Soujirou. :D  
  
MissBehavin: It might be a while before Saitou and Okita finally meet up. But, they definitely will. Chuckle. I think I may be running out of ways to resurrect Okita, but I used the best one I had. :D Thanks for reading!  
  
Shimizu Hitomi: Thanks for the links. Sorry if I fudged Soujirou's age a bit. :D Anyway, it probably would have been easier for Okita to commit seppuku. I can think of two reasons why he would not. 1) Seppuku requires a great deal of strength, which he didn't really have at that point. 2) Seppuku would be an honorable way to die, and Okita did not, at that point, think himself worthy of such honor after failing his friends. Well, I'm just grasping at straws, because I have to admit, I didn't think about it while writing.  
  
SachiAmi: I think ol' Okita may be slowly becoming less grouchy. Soujirou is definitely distracting him from brooding about how much his life sucks, anyway. :D  
  
Ron Weasley: Thanks for reading! Glad you are enjoying the story!  
  
Ebony-Glass: Oh, you have not seen insanity yet. Just wait a few chapters until Shishio shows up. Cackle!  
  
Veleda: Yeah. I'm big on brothers. Maybe I've always wanted one of my own. :D And I think you are right about Yumi. She was strong in many ways. I mean, who else could SMILE after being stabbed?  
  
Wistful-Eyes: Yeah. Soujirou has to work a bit on his social skills. Can you imagine never being hugged in your life? How awful for the boy.  
  
Master of Time and Space: Did you get my reviews for your story? The Soujirou in WalMart thing still cracks me up every time I think about it.   
  
Lord Cirenmas: Thanks for reading. :D  
  
Eeevee: So many "E"s in your name. Chuckle. I always pictured Soujirou as being a bit "slow" sometimes, but I think he is quicker (mentally) than he likes to admit to himself and others. He's one of those people who could be smart, maybe, if someone showed him how to do it. He just -agonizes- over thinking about things too much. He really does need a hobby, eh?  
  
Sailor-Earth13: Thanks for reading. It should be an amusing adventure, I hope. :D  
  
ooka-chan: I made up the poem. Took me quite a while, as I am not a very adept poet. I wish I could figure out how to make ff.net display poetry in the middle of a story correctly. Well, I'm glad you liked it. :D  
  
ChiisaiLammy: No problem. Personally, I'm always amazed by everyone's reviews. Mine, especially for stories I really like, are always so short. I think to myself, "Well, that was just perfect. What else could I say about it?" Anyway, I am working to try and make the pair more dynamic. It should become more interesting when the third main character enters the scene. I'm glad you like my descriptions. I always thought they were probably the worst part of any story I write. I wish I were a talented artist, like you, then I could draw a picture and say: "Here is what I was describing, it might make more sense to -see- it." Chuckle.  
  
RK-LuVa: Up with the Okita and Soujirou fanclub, eh? Those boys, they so rock. :D There may be some light romance towards the middle/end, but nothing distracting, I hope.   
  
Pixie Ayanami: Yeah, Saitou showing up and seeing the brothers will be one of the -big- scenes, I think, but it may not happen for a few chapters yet. Hehehehe. What -will- happen? Ooooo.  
  
Nigihayami Haruko: I hope this explains the ages and the past, a bit. They should uncover more -if- they make it to the boat. Chuckle. Thanks so much for reading!  
  
Gemini1: I -finally- got to see episodes 15 and 16. Might I say that the OKita clone is so... Ack. *shudder* But, hmmmm...Hijikata and the potato. *cracking up* Anyway, there are three things which can explain any stupid and quasi-magical plot, I've found. Eastern Medicine and Magic, Nuclear Radiation, and Aliens. Hm. Has anyone written a story where Kenshin gets abducted by aliens yet? Imagine Scully and Mulder in Meiji Japan. Hmmmmmmmmm.  
  
pu: Thanks for reading!!! 


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